THEY  CALL  ME 

CARPENTER 


BOOKS  BY  UPTON  SINCLAIR 

(Now  in  Print  and  Obtainable) 

HELL:    1923 

THE  GOOSE-STEP:    1923 

THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER:     1922 

THE  BOOK  OF  LIFE:    1922 

100%:     1920 

THE  BRASS  CHECK:    1920 

JIMMIE  HIGGINS :   1919 

THE  PROFITS  OF  RELIGION:    1919 

KING  COAL:    1917 

THE  CRY  FOR  JUSTICE:     1915 

DAMAGED  GOODS:    1913 

SYLVIA'S  MARRIAGE:    1913 

SYLVIA:    1912 

THE  FASTING  CURE:     1911 

SAMUEL  THE  SEEKER:    1909 

THE  METROPOLIS:     1907 

THE  JUNGLE:    1906 

MANASSAS:    1904 

THE  JOURNAL  OF  ARTHUR  STIRLING:    1903 

PRINCE  HAGEN :   1902 


THEY  CALL  ME 

CARPENTER 

A  Tale  of  the  Second  Coming 
UPTON^SINCLAIR 


, 

Author  of 


"The  Brass  Check,"  "The  Jungle," 
"The  Book  of  Life,"  etc. 


UPTON    SINCLAIR 

Pasadena,  California 


WHOLESALE  DISTRIBUTORS 
THE  PAINE  BOOK  CO.,  CHICAGO 


! 


COPYRIGHT,  1922 

BY 
HEARST'S  INTERNATIONAL  MAGAZINE 

COPYRIGHT,  1922 

BY 

UPTON  SINCLAIR 
All  rights  reserved 


Library 


To 

jf. 

True  and  devoted  friend 


The  beginning  of  this  strange  adventure  was  my  going 
to  see  a  motion  picture  which  had  been  made  in  Ger- 
many. It  was  three  years  after  the  end  of  the  war,  and 
you'd  have  thought  that  the  people  of  Western  City 
would  have  got  over  their  war-phobias.  But  apparently 
they  hadn't;  anyway,  there  was  a  mob  to  keep  anyone 
from  getting  into  the  theatre,  and  all  the  other  mobs 
started  from  that.  Before  I  tell  about  it,  I  must  intro- 
duce Dr.  Karl  Henner,  the  well-known  literary  critic 
from  Berlin,  who  was  travelling  in  this  country,  and 
stopped  off  in  Western  City  at  that  time.  Dr.  Henner 
was  the  cause  of  my  going  to  see  the  picture,  and  if  you 
will  have  a  moment's  patience,  you  will  see  how  the  ideas 
which  he  put  into  my  head  served  to  start  me  on  my 
extraordinary  adventure. 

You  may  not  know  much  about  these  cultured  foreign- 
ers. Their  manners  are  like  softest  velvet,  so  that  when 
you  talk  to  them,  you  feel  as  a  Persian  cat  must  feel 
while  being  stroked.  They  have  read  everything  in  the 
world;  they  speak  with  quiet  certainty;  and  they  are 
so  old — old  with  memories  of  racial  griefs  stored  up  in 
their  souls.  I,  who  know  myself  for  a  member  of  the 
best  clubs  in  Western  City,  and  of  the  best  college  fra- 
ternity in  the  country — I  found  myself  suddenly  indis- 
posed to  mention  that  I  had  helped  to  win  the  battle  of 
the  Argonne.  This  foreign  visitor  asked  me  how  I  felt 
about  the  war,  and  I  told  him  that  it  was  over,  and  I 
bore  no  hard  feelings,  but  o'f  course  I  was  glad  that 
Prussian  militarism  was  finished.  He  answered:  "A 

1 


2  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

painful  operation,  and  we  all  hope  that  the  patient  may 
survive  it;  also  we  hope  that  the  surgeon  has  not  con- 
tracted the  disease/1  Just  as  quietly  as  that. 

Of  course  I  asked  Dr.  Henner  what  he  thought  about 
America.  His  answer  was  that  we  had  succeeded  in 
producing  the  material  means  of  civilization  by  the  ton, 
where  other  nations  had  produced  them  by  the  pound. 
"We  intellectuals  in  Europe  have  always  been  poor,  by 
your  standards  over  here.  We  have  to  make  a  very  little 
food  support  a  great  many  ideas.  But  you  have  unlimited 
quantities  of  food,  and — well,  we  seek  for  the  ideas,  and 
we  judge  by  analogy  they  must  exist — " 

"But  you  don't  find  them?"  I  laughed. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  have  come  to  seek  them." 

This  talk  occurred  while  we  were  strolling  down  our 
Broadway,  in  Western  City,  one  bright  afternoon  in  the 
late  fall  of  1921.  We  talked  about  the  picture  which  Dr. 
Henner  had  recommended  to  me,  and  which  we  were 
now  going  to  see.  It  was  called  "The  Cabinet  of  Dr. 
Caligari,"  and  was  a  "futurist"  production,  a  strange, 
weird  freak  of  the  cinema  art,  supposed  to  be  the  night- 
mare of  a  madman.  "Being  an  American,"  said  Dr. 
Henner,  "you  will  find  yourself  asking,  'What  good  does 
such  a  picture  do?'  You  will  have  the  idea  that  every 
work  of  art  must  serve  some  moral  purpose."  After  a 
pause,  he  added:  "This  picture  could  not  possibly  have 
been  produced  in  America.  For  one  thing,  nearly  all  the 
characters  are  thin."  He  said  it  with  the  flicker  of  a 
smile — "One  does  not  find  American  screen  actors  in 
that  condition.  Do  your  people  care  enough  about  the 
life  of  art  to  take  a  risk  of  starving  for  it?" 

Now,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  we  had  at  that  time  several 
millions  of  people  out  of  work  in  America,  and  many  of 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  3 

them  starving.  There  must  be  some  intellectuals  among 
them,  I  suggested;  and  the  critic  replied:  "They  must 
have  starved  for  so  long  that  they  have  got  used  to  it, 
and  can  enjoy  it — or  at  any  rate  can  enjoy  turning  it 
into  art.  Is  not  that  the  final  test  of  great  art,  that  it 
has  been  smelted  in  the  fires  of  suffering?  All  the  great 
spiritual  movements  of  humanity  began  in  that  way ;  take 
primitive  Christianity,  for  example.  But  you  Americans 
have  taken  Christ,  the  carpenter — " 

I  laughed.  It  happened  that  at  this  moment  we  were 
passing  St.  Bartholomew's  Church,  a  great  brown-stone 
structure  standing  at  the  corner  of  the  park.  I  waved 
my  hand  towards  it.  "In  there,"  I  said,  "over  the  altar, 
you  may  see  Christ,  the  carpenter,  dressed  up  in  exquisite 
robes  of  white  and  amethyst,  set  up  as  a  stained  glass 
window  ornament.  But  if  you'll  stop  and  think,  you'll 
realize  it  wasn't  we  Americans  who  began  that!" 

"No,"  said  the  other,  returning  my  laugh,  "but  I  think 
it  was  you  who  finished  him  up  as  a  symbol  of  elegance, 
a  divinity  of  the  respectable  inane." 

Thus  chatting,  we  turned  the  corner,  and  came  in  sight 
o!f  our  goal,  the  Excelsior  Theatre.  And  there  was  the 
mob! 


II 

At  first,  when  I  saw  the  mass  of  people,  I  thought  it 
was  the  usual  picture  crowd.  I  said,  with  a  smile,  "Can 
it  be  that  the  American  people  are  not  so  dead  to  art 
after  all?"  But  then  I  observed  that  the  crowd  seemed 
to  be  swaying  this  way  and  that;  also  there  seemed  to 
be  a  great  many  men  in  army  uniforms.  "Hello!"  I 
exclaimed.  "A  row?" 

There  was  a  clamor  of  shouting ;  the  army  men  seemed 
to  be  pulling  and  pushing  the  civilians.  When  we  got 
nearer,  I  asked  of  a  bystander,  "What's  up?"  The 
answer  was :  "They  don't  want  'em  to  go  in  to  see  the 
picture." 

"Why  not?" 

"It's  German.    Hun  propaganda !" 

Now  you  must  understand,  I  had  helped  to  win  a 
war,  and  no  man  gets  over  such  an  experience  at  once. 
I  had  a  flash  of  suspicion,  and  glanced  at  my  companion, 
the  cultured  literary  critic  from  Berlin.  Could  it  pos- 
sibly be  that  this  smooth-spoken  gentleman  was  playing 
a  trick  upon  me — trying,  possibly,  to  get  something  into 
my  crude  American  mind  without  my  realizing  what 
was  happening?  But  I  remembered  his  detailed  account 
of  the  production,  the  very  essence  of  "art  for  art's  sake." 
I  decided  that  the  war  was  three  years  over,  and  I  was 
competent  to  do  my  own  thinking. 

Dr.  Henner  spoke  first.  "I  think/'  he  said,  "it  might 
be  wiser  if  I  did  not  try  to  go  in  there." 

"Absurd!"  I  cried.  "I'm  not  going  to  be  dictated  to 
by  a  bunch  of  imbeciles !" 

4 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  5 

"No,"  said  the  other,  "you  are  an  American,  and  don't 
have  to  be.  But  I  am  a  German,  and  I  must  learn/1 

I  noted  the  flash  of  bitterness,  but  did  not  resent  it. 
"That's  all  nonsense,  Dr.  Henner!"  I  argued.  "You 
are  my  guest,  and  I  won't — " 

"Listen,  my  friend,"  said  the  other.  "You  can  doubt- 
less get  by  without  trouble;  but  I  would  surely  rouse 
their  anger,  and  I  have  no  mind  to  be  beaten  for  nothing. 
I  have  seen  the  picture  several  times,  and  can  talk  about 
it  with  you  just  as  well." 

"You  make  me  ashamed  of  myself,"  I  cried — "and  of 
my  [country!" 

"No,  no !  It  is  what  you  should  expect.  It  is  what  I 
had  in  mind  when  I  spoke  of  the  surgeon  contracting  the 
disease.  We  German  intellectuals  know  what  war 
means;  we  are  used  to  things  like  this."  Suddenly  he 
put  out  his  hand.  "Good-bye." 

"I  will  go  with  you!"  I  exclaimed.  But  he  protested 
• — that  would  embarrass  him  greatly.  I  would  please 
to  stay,  and  see  the  picture ;  he  would  be  interested  later 
on  to  hear  my  opinion  of  it.  And  abruptly  he  turned, 
and  walked  off,  leaving  me  hesitating  and  angry. 

At  last  I  started  towards  the  entrance  of  the  theatre. 
One  of  the  men  in  uniform  barred  my  way.  "No  admit- 
tance here!" 

"But  why  not?" 

"It's  a  German  show,  and  we  aint  a-goin'  to  allow  it." 

"Now  see  here,  buddy,"  I  countered,  none  too  good- 
naturedly,  "I  haven't  got  my  uniform  on,  but  I've  as 
good  a  right  to  it  as  you ;  I  was  all  through  the  Argonne." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  to  see  Hun  propaganda  for?" 

"Maybe  I  want  to  see  what  it's  like." 

"Well,  you  can't  go  in;  we're  here  to  shut  up  this 
show!" 


6  THEY  CALL  ME  CAEPENTEB 

I  had  stepped  to  one  side  as  I  spoke,  and  he  caught  me 
by  the  arm.  I  thought  there  had  been  talk  enough,  and 
gave  a  sudden  lurch,  and  tore  my  arm  free.  "Hold  on 
here!"  he  shouted,  and  tried  to  stop  me  again;  but  I 
sprang  through  the  crowd  towards  the  box-office.  There 
were  more  than  a  hundred  civilians  in  or  about  the  lobby, 
and  not  more  than  twenty  or  thirty  ex-service  men  main- 
taining the  blockade ;  so  a  few  got  by,  and  I  was  one  of 
the  lucky  ones.  I  bought  my  ticket,  and  entered  the 
theatre.  To  the  man  at  the  door  I  said :  "Who  started 
this?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir.  It's  just  landed  on  us,  and  we 
haven't  had  time  to  find  out." 

"Is  the  picture  German  propaganda?" 

"Nothing  like  that  at  all,  sir.  They  say  they  won't 
let  us  show  German  pictures,  because  they're  so  much 
cheaper ;  they'll  put  American-made  pictures  out  of  busi- 
ness, and  it's  unfair  competition." 

"Oh!"  I  exclaimed,  and  light  began  to  dawn.  I  re- 
called Dr.  Henner's  remark  about  producing  a  great 
many  ideas  out  of  a  very  little  food;  assuredly,  the 
American  picture  industry  had  cause  to  fear  competition 
of  that  sort!  I  thought  of  old  "T-S,"  as  the  screen 
people  call  him  for  short — the  king  of  the  movie  world, 
with  his  roll  of  fat  hanging  over  his  collar,  and  his  two 
or  three  extra  chins !  I  though  of  Mary  Magna,  million 
dollar  queen  of  the  pictures,  contriving  diets  and  exer- 
cises for  herself,  and  weighing  with  fear  and  trembling 
every  day! 


Ill 

It  was  time  for  the  picture  to  begin,  so  I  smoothed 
my  coat,  and  went  to  a  seat,  and  was  one  of  perhaps  two 
dozen  spectators  before  whom  "The  Cabinet  of  Dr.  Cali- 
gari"  received  its  first  public  showing  in  Western  City. 
The  story  had  to  do  with  a  series  of  murders;  we  saw 
them  traced  by  a  young  man,  and  fastened  bit  by  bit 
upon  an  old  magician  and  doctor.  As  the  drama  neared 
its  climax,  we  discovered  this  doctor  to  be  the  head  of 
an  asylum  for  the  insane,  and  the  young  man  to  be  one 
of  the  inmates;  so  in  the  end  the  series  of  adventures 
was  revealed  to  us  as  the  imaginings  ot  a  madman  about 
his  physician  and  keepers.  The  settings  and  scenery 
were  in  the  style  of  "futurist"  art — weird  and  highly 
effective.  I  saw  it  all  in  the  light  of  Dr.  Henner's  inter- 
pretation, the  product  of  an  old,  perhaps  an  overripe 
culture.  Certainly  no  such  picture  could  have  been  pro- 
duced in  America !  If  I  had  to  choose  between  this  and 
the  luxurious  sex-stuff  of  Mary  Magna — well,  I  won- 
dered. At  least,  I  had  been  interested  in  every  moment 
of  "Dr.  Caligari,"  and  I  was  only  interested  in  Mary  off 
the  screen.  Several  times  every  year  I  had  to  choose 
between  mortally  hurting  her  feelings,  and  watching  her 
elaborate  "vamping"  through  eight  or  ten  costly  reels. 

I  had  read  many  stories  and  seen  a  great  many  plays, 
in  which  the  hero  wakes  up  in  the  end,  and  we  realize 
that  we  have  been  watching  a  dream.  I  remembered 
"Midsummer  Night's  Dream,"  and  also  "Looking  Back- 
ward." A$t  old,  old  device  of  art;  and  yet  always  effec- 
tive, one  of  the  most  effective!  But  this  was  the  first 

7 


8  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

time  I  had  ever  been  taken  into  the  dreams  of  a  lunatic. 
Yes,  it  was  interesting,  there  was  no  denying  it;  grisly 
stuff,  but  alive,  and  marvelously  well  acted.  How  Edgar 
Allen  Poe  would  have  revelled  in  it!  So  thinking,  I 
walked  towards  the  exit  of  the  theatre,  and  a  swinging 
door  gave  way — and  upon  my  ear  broke  a  clamor  that 
-  might  have  come  direct  from  the  inside  of  Dr.  Caligari's 
asylum.  "Ya,  ya.  Boo,  boo !  German  propaganda !  Pay 
your  money  to  the  Huns!  For  shame  on  you!  Leave 
your  own  people  to  starve,  and  send  your  cash  to  the 
enemy" 

I  stopped  still,  and  whispered  to  myself,  "My  God!" 
During  all  the  time — an  hour  or  more — that  I  had  been 
away  on  the  wings  of  imagination,  these  poor  boobs  had 
been  howling  and  whooping  outside  the  theatre,  keeping 
the  crowds  away,  and  incidentally  working  themselves 
into  a  fury !  For  a  moment  I  thought  I  would  go  out  and 
reason  with  them;  they  were  mistaken  in  the  idea  that 
there  was  anything  about  the  war,  anything  against 
America  in  the  picture.  But  I  realized  that  they  were 
beyond  reason.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  go  my  way 
and  let  them  rave. 

But  quickly  I  saw  that  this  was  not  going  to  be  so 
easy  as  I  had  fancied.  Right  in  front  of  the  entrance 
stood  the  big  fellow  who  had  caught  my  arm;  and  as  I 
came  toward  him  I  saw  that  he  had  me  marked.  He 
pointed  a  finger  into  my  face,  shouting  in  a  fog-horn 
voice:  "There's  a  traitor!  Says  he  was  in  the  service, 
and  now  he's  backing  the  Huns !" 

I  tried  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  him,  but  he  got  me 
by  the  arm,  and  others  were  around  me.  "Yein,  yein, 
yein !"  they  shouted  into  my  ear ;  and  as  I  tried  to  make 
my  way  through,  they  began  to  hustle  me.  "I'll  shove 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  9 

your  face  in,  you  damned  Hun!" — a  continual  string  of 
such  abuse;  and  I  had  been  in  the  service,  and  seen 
fighting ! 

I  never  tried  harder  to  avoid  trouble ;  I  wanted  to  get 
away,  but  that  big  fellow  stuck  his  feet  between  mine 
and  tripped  me,  he  lunged  and  shoved  me  into  the  gutter, 
and  so,  of  course,  I  made  to  hit  him.  But  they  had  me 
helpless ;  I  had  no  more  than  clenched  my  fist  and  drawn 
back  my  arm,  when  I  received  a  violent  blow  on  the 
side  of  my  jaw.  I  never  knew  what  hit  me,  a  fist  or  a 
weapon.  I  only  felt  the  crash,  and  a  sensation  of  reeling, 
and  a  series  of  blows  and  kicks  like  a  storm  about  me. 

I  ask  you  to  believe  that  I  did  not  run  away  in  the 
Argonne.  I  did  mv  job,  and  got  my  wound,  and  my 
honorable  record.  But  there  I  had  a  fighting  chance, 
and  here  I  had  none;  and  maybe  I  was  dazed,  and  it 
was  the  instinctive  reaction  of  my  tormented  body — 
anyhow,  I  ran.  I  staggered  along,  with  the  blows  and 
kicks  to  keep  me  moving.  And  then  I  saw  half  a  dozen 
broad  steps,  and  a  big  open  doorway;  I  fled  that  way, 
and  found  myself  in  a  dark,  cool  place,  reeling  like  a 
drunken  man,  but  no  longer  beaten,  and  apparently  no 
longer  pursued.  I  was  falling,  and  there  was  something 
nearby,  and  I  caught  at  it,  and  sank  down  upon  a  sort 
of  wooden  bench. 


IV 

I  had  run  into  St.  Bartholomew's  Church;  and  when 
I  came  to — I  fear  I  cut  a  pitiful  figure,  but  I  have  to 
tell  the  truth — I  was  crying.  I  don't  think  the  pain  of 
my  head  and  face  had  anything  to  do  with  it,  I  think  it 
was  rage  and  humiliation;  my  sense  of  outrage,  that  I, 
who  had  helped  to  win  a  war,  should  have  been  made 
to  run  from  a  gang  of  cowardly  rowdies.  Anyhow,  here 
I  was,  sunk  down  in  a  pew  of  the  church,  sobbing  as  if 
my  heart  was  broken. 

At  last  I  raised  my  head,  and  holding  on  to  the  pew 
in  front,  looked  about  me.  The  churcn  was  apparently 
deserted.  There  were  dark  vistas ;  and  directly  in  front 
of  me  a  gleaming  altar,  and  high  over  it  a  stained  glass 
window,  with  the  afternoon  sun  shining  through.  You 
know,  of  course,  the  sort  of  figures  they  have  in  those 
windows;  a  man  in  long  robes,  white,  with  purple  and 
gold;  with  a  brown  beard,  and  a  gentle,  sad  face,  and  a 
halo  of  light  about  the  head.  I  was  staring  at  the  figure, 
and  at  the  same  time  choking  with  rage  and  pain,  but 
clenching  my  hands,  and  making  up  my  mind  to  go  out 
and  follow  those  brutes,  and  get  that  big  one  alone  and 
pound  his  face  to  a  jelly.  And  here  begins  the  strange 
part  of  my  adventure;  suddenly  that  shining  figure 
stretched  out  its  two  arms  to  me,  as  if  imploring  me 
not  to  think  those  vengeful  thoughts! 

I  knew,  of  course,  what  it  meant;  I  had  just  seen  a 
play  about  delirium,  and  had  got  a  whack  on  the  head, 
and  now  I  was  delirious  myself.  I  thought  I  must  be 
badly  hurt;  I  bowed  my  reeling  head  in  my  arms,  and 

10 


THEY  CALL  ME  CABPENTER  11 

began  to  sob  like  a  kid,  out  loud,  and  without  shame. 
But  somehow  I  forgot  about  the  big  brute,  and  his  face 
that  I  wanted  to  pound ;  instead,  I  was  ashamed  and  be* 
wildered,  a  queer  hysterical  state  with  a  half  dozen 
emotions  mixed  up.  The  Caligari  story  was  in  it,  and 
the  lunatic  asylum;  I've  got  a  cracked  skull,  I  thought, 
and  my  mind  will  never  get  right  again !  I  sat,  huddled 
and  shuddering;  until  suddenly  I  felt  a  quiet  hand  on 
my  shoulder,  and  heard  a  gentle  voice  saying:  "Don't 
be  afraid.  It  is  I." 

Now,  I  shall  waste  no  time  telling  you  how  amazed 
I  was.  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  believe  what 
was  happening  to  me;  I  thought  I  was  clean  off  my 
head.  I  lifted  my  eyes,  and  there,  in  the  aisle  of  the 
most  decorous  church  of  St.  Bartholomew,  standing  with 
his  hand  on  my  head,  was  the  figure  out  of  the  stained 
glass  window !  I  looked  at  him  twice,  and  then  I  looked 
at  the  window.  Where  the  figure  had  been  was  a  great 
big  hole  with  the  sun  shining  through ! 


2— Nov.   23 


We  know  the  power  of  suggestion,  and  especially  when 
one  taps  the  deeps  of  the  unconscious,  where  our  child- 
hood memories  are  buried.  I  had  been  brought  up  in  a 
religious  family,  and  so  it  seemed  quite  natural  to  me 
that  while  that  hand  lay  on  my  head,  the  throbbing  and 
whirling  should  cease,  and  likewise  the  fear.  I  became 
perfectly  quiet,  and  content  to  sit  under  the  friendly 
spell.  "Why  were  you  crying?"  asked  the  voice,  at  last. 

I  answered,  hesitatingly,  "I  think  it  was  humiliation." 

"Is  it  something  you  have  done  ?" 

"No.    Something  that  was  done  to  me." 

"But  how  can  a  man  be  humiliated  by  the  afct  of 
another?" 

I  saw  what  he  meant;  and  I  was  not  humiliated  any 
more. 

The  stranger  spoke  again.  "A  mob,"  he  said,  "is  a 
blind  thing,  worse  than  madness.  It  is  the  beast  in  man 
running  away  with  his  master." 

I  thought  to  myself :  how  can  he  know  what  has  hap- 
pened to  me?  But  then  I  reflected,  perhaps  he  saw  them 
drive  me  into  the  church !  I  found  myself  with  a  sudden, 
queer  impulse  to  apologize  for  those  soldier  boys.  "We 
had  some  terrible  fighting,"  I  cried.  "And  you  know 
what  wars  do — to  the  minds  of  the  people,  I  mean." 

"Yes,"  said  the  stranger,  "I  know,  only  too  well." 

I  had  meant  to  explain  this  mob ;  but  somehow,  I  de- 
cided that  I  could  not.  How  could  I  make  him  under- 
stand moving  picture  shows,  and  German  competition, 
and  ex-service  men  out  of  jobs  ?  There  was  a  pause,  and 
he  asked,  "Can  you  stand  up?" 

12 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  13 

I  tried  and  found  that  I  could.  I  felt  the  side  of  my 
jaw,  and  it  hurt,  but  somehow  the  pain  seemed  apart 
from  myself.  I  could  see  clearly  and  steadily ;  there  were 
only  two  things  wrong  that  I  could  find — first,  this 
stranger  standing  by  my  side,  and  second,  that  hole  in 
the  window,  where  I  had  seen  him  standing  so  many 
Sunday  mornings! 

"Are  you  going  out  now?"  he  asked.  As  I  hesitated, 
he  added,  tactfully,  "Perhaps  you  would  let  me  go  with 
you?" 

Here  was  indeed  a  startling  proposition!  His  cos- 
tume, his  long  hair — there  were  many  things  about  him 
not  adapted  to  Broadway  at  five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon ! 
But  what  could  I  say?  It  would  be  rude  to  call  atten- 
tion to  his  peculiarities.  All  I  could  manage  was  to 
stammer:  "I  thought  you  belonged  in  the  church/1 

"Do  I?"  he  replied,  with  a  puzzled  look.  "I'm  not 
sure.  I  have  been  wondering — am  I  really  needed  here? 
And  am  I  not  more  needed  in  the  world?" 

"Well,"  said  I,  "there's  one  thing  certain."  I  pointed 
up  to  the  window.  "That  hole  is  conspicuous." 

"Yes,  that  is  true." 

"And  if  it  should  rain,  the  altar  would  be  ruined.  The 
Reverend  Dr.  Lettuce-Spray  would  be  dreadfully  dis- 
tressed. That  altar  cloth  was  left  to  the  church  in  the 
will  of  Mrs.  Elvina  de  Wiggs,  and  God  knows  how  many 
thousands  of  dollars  it  cost." 

"I  suppose  that  wouldn't  do,"  said  the  stranger.  "Let 
us  see  if  we  can't  find  something  to  put  there." 

He  started  up  the  aisle,  and  through  the  chancel.  I 
followed,  and  we  came  into  the  vestry-room,  and  there 
on  the  wall  I  noticed  a  full  length,  life-sized  portrait  of 
old  Algernon  de  Wiggs,  president  of  the  Empire  National 


14  THEY  CALL  ME  CABPENTER 

Bank,  and  of  the  Western  City  Chamber  of  Commerce. 
"Let  us  see  if  he  would  fill  the  place,"  said  the  stranger ; 
and  to  my  amazement  he  drew  up  a  chair,  and  took  down 
the  huge  picture,  and  carried  it,  seemingly  without  effort, 
into  the  church. 

He  stepped  upon  the  altar,  and  lifted  the  portrait  in 
front  of  the  window.  How  he  got  it  to  stay  there  I  am 
not  sure — I  was  too  much  taken  aback  by  the  procedure 
to  notice  such  details.  There  the  picture  was ;  it  seemed 
to  fit  the  window  exactly,  and  the  effect  was  simply 
colossal.  You'd  have  to  know  old  de  Wiggs  to  appre- 
ciate it — those  round,  puffy  cheeks,  with  the  afternoon 
sun  behind  them,  making  them  shine  like  two  enormous 
Jonathan  apples !  Our  leading  banker  was  clad  in  decor- 
ous black,  as  always  on  Sunday  mornings,  but  in  one 
place  the  sun  penetrated  his  form — at  one  side  of  his 
chest.  My  curiosity  got  the  better  of  me;  I  could  not 
restrain  the  question,  "What  is  that  golden  light?" 

Said  the  stranger:     "I  think  that  is  his  heart." 

"But  that  can't  be!"  I  argued.  "The  light  is  on  his 
right  side;  and  it  seems  to  have  an  oblong  shape — 
exactly  as  if  it  were  his  wallet." 

Said  the  other :  "Where  the  treasure  is,  there  will  the 
heart  be  also." 


VI 

We  passed  out  through  the  arched  doorway,  and 
Broadway  was  before  us.  I  had  another  thrill  of  dis- 
tress— a  vision  of  myself  walking-  down  this  crowded 
street  with  this  extraordinary  looking  personage.  The 
crowds  would  stare  at  us,  the  street  urchins  would  swarm 
about  us,  until  we  blocked  the  traffic  and  the  police  ran 
us  in!  So  I  thought,  as  we  descended  the  steps  and 
started;  but  my  fear  passed,  for  we  walked  and  no  one 
followed  us — hardly  did  anyone  even  turn  his  eyes 
after  us. 

I  realized  in  a  little  while  how  this  could  be.  The 
pleasant  climate  of  Western  City  brings  strange  visitors 
to  dwell  here ;  we  have  Hindoo  swamis  in  yellow  silk,  and 
a  Theosophist  college  on  a  hill-top,  and  people  who  take 
up  with  "nature,"  and  go  about  with  sandals  and  bare 
legs,  and  a  mane  of  hair  over  their  shoulders.  I  pass 
them  on  the  street  now  and  then — one  of  them  carries 
a  shepherd's  crook!  I  remember  how,  a  few  years  ago, 
my  Aunt  Caroline,  rambling  around  looking  for  some- 
thing to  satisfy  her  emotions,  took  up  with  these  queer 
ideas,  and  there  came  to  her  front  door,  to  the  infinite 
bewilderment  of  the  butler,  a  mild-eyed  prophet  in  pas- 
toral robes,  and  with  a  little  newspaper  bundle  in  his 
hand.  This,  spread  out  before  my  aunt,  proved  to  con- 
tain three  carrots  and  two  onions,  carefully  washed,  and 
shining;  they  were  the  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth,  and  of 
the  prophet's  own  labor,  and  my  old  auntie  was  deeply 
touched,  because  it  appeared  that  this  visitor  was  a  seer, 
the  sole  composer  of  a  mighty  tome  which  is  to  be  found 

15 


16  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

in  the  public  library,  and  is  known  as  the  "Eternal 
Bible." 

So  here  I  was,  strolling  along  quite  as  a  matter  of 
course  with  my  strange  acquaintance.  I  saw  that  he 
was  looking  about,  and  I  prepared  for  questions,  and 
wondered  what  they  would  be.  I  thought  that  he  must 
naturally  be  struck  by  such  wonders  as  automobiles  and 
crowded  street-cars.  I  failed  to  realize  that  he  would 
be  thinking  about  the  souls  of  the  people. 

Said  he,  at  last:    "This  is  a  large  city?" 

"About  half  a  million." 

"And  what  quarter  are  we  in?" 

"The  shopping  district." 

"Is  it  a  segregated  district?" 

"Segregated?    In  what  way?" 

"Apparently  there  are  only  courtesans." 

I  could  not  help  laughing.  "You  are  misled  by  the 
peculiarities  of  our  feminine  fashions — details  with  which 
you  are  naturally  not  familiar — " 

"Oh,  quite  the  contrary,"  said  he,  "I  am  only  too 
familiar  with  them.  In  childhood  I  learned  the  words 
of  the  prophet:  'Because  the  daughters  of  Zion  are 
haughty,  and  walk  with  stretched  forth  necks  and  wan- 
ton eyes,  walking  and  mincing  as  they  go,  and  making  a 
tinkling  with  their  feet;  therefore  the  Lord  will  smite 
with  a  scab  the  crown  of  the  head  of  the  daughters  of 
Zion,  and  the  Lord  will  discover  their  secret  parts.  In 
that  day  the  Lord  will  take  away  the  bravery  of  their 
tinkling  ornaments  about  their  feet,  and  their  cauls,  and 
their  round  tires  like  the  moon,  the  chains,  and  the  brace- 
lets, and  the  mufflers,  the  bonnets,  and  the  ornaments  of 
the  legs,  and  the  headbands,  and  the  tablets,  and  the 
earrings,  and  nose  jewels,  the  changeable  suits  of  apparel, 


THEY  CALL  ME  CAEPENTER  17 

and  the  mantles,  and  the  wimples,  and  the  crisping  pins, 
the  glasses,  and  the  fine  linen,  and  the  hoods,  and  the 
veils.  And  it  shall  come  to  pass  that  instead  of  sweet 
smell  there  shall  be  stink;  and  instead  of  a  girdle  a  rent; 
and  instead  of  well  set  hair,  baldness;  and  instead  of  a 
stomacher  a  girding  of  sackcloth ;  and  burning  instead  of 
beauty/  " 

From  the  point  of  view  of  literature  this  might  be 
great  stuff;  but  on  the  corner  of  Broadway  and  Fifth 
Street  at  the  crowded  hours  it  was  unusual,  to  say  the 
least.  My  companion  was  entering  into  the  spirit  of 
it  in  a  most  alarming  way;  he  was  half  chanting,  his 
voice  rising,  his  face  lighting  up.  "  Thy  men  shall  fall 
by  the  sword,  and  thy  mighty  in  the  war.  And  her  gates 
shall  lament  and  mourn;  and  she  being  desolate  shall 
sit  upon  the  ground.' " 

"Be  careful!"  I  whispered.     "People  will  hear  you!" 

"But  why  should  they  not?"  He  turned  on  me  a 
look  of  surprise.  "The  people  hear  me  gladly."  And  he 
added:  "The  common  people." 

Here  was  an  aspect  of  my  adventure  which  had  not 
occurred  to  me  before.  "My  God!"  I  thought.  "If  he 
takes  to  preaching  on  street  corners!"  I  realized  in  a 
flash — it  was  exactly  what  he  would  be  up  to !  A  panic 
seized  me;  I  couldn't  stand  that;  I'd  have  to  cut  and 
run! 

I  began  to  speak  quickly.  "We  must  get  across  this 
street  while  we  have  time;  the  traffic  officer  has  turned 
the  right  way  now."  And  I  began  explaining  our  re- 
markable system  of  traffic  handling. 

But  he  stopped  me  in  the  middle.  "Why  do  we  wish 
to  cross  the  street,  when  we  have  no  place  to  go?" 

"I  have  a  place  I  wish  to  take  you  to,"  I  said ;  "a  friend 


18  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

I  want  you  to  meet.  Let  us  cross."  And  while  I  was 
guiding  him  between  the  automobiles,  I  was  desperately 
trying  to  think  how  to  back  up  my  lie.  Who  was  there 
that  would  receive  this  incredible  stranger,  and  put  him 
up  for  the  night,  and  get  him  into  proper  clothes,  and 
keep  him  off  the  soap-box? 

Truly,  I  was  in  an  extraordinary  position !  What  had 
I  done  to  get  this  stranger  wished  onto  me?  And  how 
long  was  he  going  to  stay  with  me?  I  found  myself 
recalling  the  plight  of  Mary  who  had  a  little  lamb! 

Fate  had  me  in  its  hands,  and  did  not  mean  to  consult 
me.  We  had  gone  less  than  a  block  further  when  I 
heard  a  voice,  "Hello!  Billy!"  I  turned.  Oh,  Lord! 
Oh,  Lord!  Of  all  the  thankless  encounters— Edgerton 
Rosythe,  moving  picture  critic  of  the  Western  City 
"Times."  Precisely  the  most  cynical,  the  most  profane, 
the  most  boisterous  person  in  a  cynical  and  profane  and 
boisterous  business!  And  he  had  me  here,  in  full  day- 
light, with  a  figure  just  out  of  a  stained  glass  window 
in  St.  Bartholomew's  Church! 


VII 

"Hello,  Billy!  Who's  your  good-looking  friend?" 
Rosythe  was  in  full  sail  before  a  breeze  of  his  own 
making. 

How  could  I  answer.    "Why — er — " 

The  stranger  spoke.    "They  call  me  Carpenter." 

"Ah!"  said  the  critic.  "Mr.  Carpenter,  delighted  to 
meet  you."  He  gave  the  stranger  a  hearty  grip  of  the 
hand.  "Are  you  on  location?" 

"Location?"  said  the  other;  and  Rosythe  shot  an  arrow 
of  laughter  towards  me.  Perhaps  he  knew  about  the 
vagaries  of  my  Aunt  Caroline;  anyhow,  he  would  have 
a  fantastic  tale  to  tell  about  me,  and  was  going  to  ex- 
ploit it  to  the  limit! 

I  made  a  pitiful  attempt  to  protect  my  dignity.  "Mr. 
Carpenter  has  just  arrived,"  I  began — 

"Just  arrived,  hey?"  said  the  critic.  "Oviparous,  viv- 
parous,  or  oviviparous ?"  He  raised  his  hand;  actually, 
in  the  glory  of  his  wit,  he  was  going  to  clap  the  stranger 
on  the  shoulder ! 

But  his  hand  stayed  in  the  air.  Such  a  look  as  came 
on  Carpenter's  face!  "Hush!"  he  commanded.  "Be 
silent !"  And  then :  "Any  man  will  join  in  laughter ;  but 
who  will  join  in  disease?" 

"Hey  ?"  said  Rosythe ;  and  it  was  my  turn  to  grin. 

"Mr.  Carpenter  has  just  done  me  a  great  service,"  I 
explained.  "I  got  badly  mauled  in  the  mob — " 

"Oh!"  cried  the  other.  "At  the  Excelsior  Theatre!" 
Here  was  something  to  talk  about,  to  cover  his  bewilder- 
ment. "So  you  were  in  it!  I  was  watching  them  just 
now." 

19 


20  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

"Are  they  still  at  it?" 

"Sure  thing!" 

"A  fine  set  of  boobs,"  I  began — 

"Boobs,  nothing!"  broke  in  the  other.  "What  do  you 
suppose  they're  doing?" 

"Saving  us  from  Hun  propaganda,  so  they  told  me." 

"The  hell  of  a  lot  they  care  about  Hun  propaganda! 
They  are  earning  five  dollars  a  head." 

"What?" 

"Sure  as  you're  born!" 

"You  really  know  that?" 

"Know  it?  Pete  Dailey  was  at  a  meeting  of  the  Mo- 
tion Picture  Directors'  Association  last  night,  and  it  was 
arranged  to  put  up  the  money  and  hire  them.  They're 
a  lot  of  studio  bums,  doing  a  real  mob  scene  on  a  real 
location !" 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!"  I  said.  "And  what  about 
the  police?" 

"Police?"  laughed  the  critic.  "Would  you  expect 
the  police  to  work  free  when  the  soldiers  are  paid  ?  Why, 
Jesus  Christ " 

"I  beg  pardon?"  said  Carpenter. 

"Why — er — "  said  Rosythe;  and  stopped,  completely 
bluffed. 

"You  ought  not  swear,"  I  remarked,  gravely;  and 
then,  "I  must  explain.  I  got  pounded  by  that  mob;  I 
was  knocked  quite  silly,  and  this  gentleman  found  me, 
and  healed  me  in  a  wonderful  way." 

"Oh!"  said  the  critic,  with  genuine  interest.  "Mind 
cure,  hey?  What  line?" 

I  was  about  to  reply,  but  Carpenter,  it  appeared,  was 
able  to  take  care  of  himself.  "The  line  of  love,"  he 
answered,  gently. 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  21 

"See  here,  Rosythe,"  I  broke  in,  "I  can't  stand  on  the 
street.  I'm  beginning  to  feel  seedy  again.  I  think  I'll  have 
a  taxi." 

"No,"  said  the  critic.  "Come  with  me.  I'm  on  the 
way  to  pick  up  the  missus.  Right  around  the  corner — 
a  fine  place  to  rest."  And  without  further  ado  he  took 
me  by  the  arm  and  led  me  along.  He  was  a  good-hearted 
chap  inside ;  his  rowdyisms  were  just  the  weapons  of  his 
profession.  We  went  into  an  office  building,  and  entered 
an  elevator.  I  did  not  know  the  building,  or  the  offices 
we  came  to.  Rosythe  pushed  open  a  door,  and  I  saw 
before  me  a  spacious  parlor,  with  birds  of  paradise  of  the 
female  sex  lounging  in  upholstered  "chairs.  I  was  led 
to  a  vast  plush  sofa,  and  sank  into  it  with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

The  stranger  stood  beside  me,  and  put  his  hand  on 
my  head  once  more.  It  was  truly  a  miracle,  how  the 
whirling  and  roaring  ceased,  and  peace  came  back  to 
me ;  it  must  have  shown  in  my  face,  for  the  moving  pic- 
ture critic  of  the  Western  City  "Times"  stood  watching 
me  with  a  quizzical  smile  playing  over  his  face.  I  could 
read  his  thoughts,  as  well  as  if  he  had  uttered  them: 
"Regular  Svengali  stuff,  by  Godl" 


VIII 

I  was  so  comfortable  there,  I  did  not  care  what  hap- 
pened. I  closed  my  eyes  for  a  while ;  then  I  opened  them 
and  gazed  lazily  about  the  place.  I  noted  that  all  the 
birds  of  paradise  were  watching  Carpenter.  With  one 
accord  their  heads  had  turned,  and  their  eyes  were 
riveted  upon  him.  I  found  myself  thinking.  "This  man 
will  make  a  hit  with  the  ladies  1"  Like  the  swamis,  with 
their  soft  brown  skins,  and  their  large,  dark,  cow-like 
eyes! 

There  had  been  silence  in  the  place.  But  suddenly 
we  all  heard  a  moan ;  I  felt  Carpenter  start,  and  his  hand 
left  my  head.  A  dozen  doors  gave  into  this  big  parlor 
— all  of  them  closed.  We  perceived  that  the  sound  came 
through  the  door  nearest  to  us.  "What  is  it?"  I  asked, 
of  Rosythe. 

"God  knows,"  said  he;  "you  never  can  tell,  in  this 
place  of  torment." 

I  was  about  to  ask,  "What  sort  of  place  is  it?"  But 
the  moan  came  again,  louder,  more  long  drawn  out :  "O- 
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh !"  It  ended  in  a  sort  of  explosion,  as  if 
the  maker  of  it  had  burst. 

Carpenter  turned,  and  took  two  steps  towards  the 
door;  then  he  stopped,  hesitating.  My  eyes  followed 
him,  and  then  turned  to  the  critic,  who  was  watching 
Carpenter,  with  a  broad  grin  on  his  face.  Evidently 
Rosythe  was  going  to  have  some  fun,  and  get  his  re- 
venge ! 

The  sound  came  again — louder,  more  harrowing.  It 
came  at  regular  intervals,  and  each  time  with  the  ex- 
plosion at  the  end.  I  watched  Carpenter,  and  he  was 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  23 

like  a  high-spirited  horse  that  hears  the  cracking  of  a 
whip  over  his  head.  The  creature  becomes  more  rest- 
less, he  starts  more  quickly  and  jumps  farther  at  each 
sound.  But  he  is  puzzled ;  he  does  not  know  what  these 
lashes  mean,  or  which  way  he  ought  to  run. 

Carpenter  looked  from  one  to  another  of  us,  searching 
our  faces.  He  looked  at  the  birds  of  paradise  in  the 
lounging  chairs.  Not  one  of  them  moved  a  muscle — save 
only  those  muscles  which  caused  their  eyes  to  follow 
him.  It  was  no  concern  of  theirs,  this  agony,  whatever 
it  was.  Yet,  plainly,  it  was  the  sound  of  a  woman  in 
torment :  "O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh !" 

Carpenter  wanted  to  open  that  door.  His  hand  would 
start  towards  it;  then  he  would  turn  away.  Between 
the  two  impulses  he  was  presently  pacing  the  room ;  and 
since  there  was  no  one  who  appeared  to  have  any  inter- 
est in  what  he  might  say,  he  began  muttering  to  him- 
self. I  would  catch  a  phrase:  "The  fate  of  woman!" 
And  again:  "The  price  of  life!"  I  would  hear  the  ter- 
rible, explosive  wail:  "O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh!"  And  it 
would  wring  a  cry  out  of  the  depths  of  Carpenter's  soul : 
"Oh,  have  mercy!" 

In  the  beginning,  the  moving  picture  critic  of  the 
Western  City  "Times"  had  made  some  effort  to  restrain 
his  amusement.  But  as  this  performance  went  on,  his 
face  became  one  enormous,  wide-spreading  grin ;  and  you 
can  understand,  that  made  him  seem  quite  devilish. 
I  saw  that  Carpenter  was  more  and  more  goaded  by  it. 
He  would  look  at  Rosythe,  and  then  he  would  turn  away 
in  aversion.  But  at  last  he  made  an  effort  to  conquer 
his  feelings,  and  went  up  to  the  critic,  and  said,  gently: 
"My  friend:  for  every  man  who  lives  on  earth,  some 
woman  has  paid  the  price  of  life." 


24  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

"The  price  of  life?"  repeated  the  critic,  puzzled. 

Carpenter  waved  his  hand  towards  the  door.  "We 
"confront  this  everlasting  mystery,  this  everlasting  terror ; 
and  it  is  not  becoming  that  you  should  mock." 

The  grin  faded  from  the  other's  face.  His  brows 
wrinkled,  and  he  said:  "I  don't  get  you,  friend.  What 
can  a  man  do?" 

"At  least  he  can  bow  his  heart ;  he  can  pay  his  tribute 
to  womanhood." 

"You're  too  much  for  me,"  responded  Rosythe.  "The 
imbeciles  choose  to  go  through  with  it;  it's  their  own 
choice." 

Said  Carpenter :  "You  have  never  thought  of  it  as  the 
choice  of  God?" 

"Holy  smoke!"  exclaimed  the  critic.  "I  sure  never 
did!" 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  doors  was  opened. 
Rosythe  turned  his  eyes.  "Ah,  Madame  Planchet!"  he 
cried.  "Come  tell  us  about  it  I" 


IX 

A  stoutish  woman  out  of  a  Paris  fashion-plate  came 
trotting  across  the  room,  smiling  in  welcome :  "Meester 
Rosythe!"  She  had  black  earrings  flapping  from  each 
ear,  and  her  face  was  white,  with  a  streak  of  scarlet  for 
lips.  She  took  the  critic  by  his  two  hands,  and  the  critic, 
laughing,  said:  "Respondez,  Madame!  Does  God  bring 
the  ladies  to  this  place?" 

"Ah,  surely,  Meester  Rosythe!  The  god  of  beautee, 
he  breengs  them  to  us!  And  the  leetle  god  with  the 
golden  arrow,  the  rosy  cheeks  and  the  leetle  dimple — 
the  dimple  that  we  make  heem  for  two  hundred  dollars 
a  piece — eh,  Meester  Rosythe?  He  breengs  the  ladies 
to  us!" 

The  critic  turned.  "Madame  Planchet,  permit  me  to 
introduce  Mr.  Carpenter.  He  is  a  man  of  wonder,  he 
heals  pain,  and  does  it  by  means  of  love." 

"Oh,  how  eenteresting !  But  what  eef  love  heemself 
ees  pain — who  shall  heal  that,  eh,  Meester  Carpentair?" 

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-h !"  came  the  moan. 

Said  Rosythe:  "Mr.  Carpenter  thinks  you  make  the 
ladies  suffer  too  much.  It  worries  him." 

"Ah,  but  the  ladies  do  not  mind!  Pain?  What  ees 
eet?  The  lady  who  makes  the  groans,  she  cannot  move, 
and  so  she  ees  unhappy.  Also,  she  likes  to  have  her 
own  way,  she  ees  a  leetle — what  you  say? — spoilt.  But 
her  troubles  weel  pass;  she  weel  be  beautiful,  and  her 
husband  weel  love  her  more,  and  she  weel  be  happy." 

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh !"  from  the  other  room;  and  Mad- 
ame Planchet  prattled  away:  "I  say  to  them,  Make 

25 


26  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

plenty  of  noises!  Eet  helps!  No  one  weel  be  afraid, 
for  all  here  are  worshippers  of  the  god  of  beautee — all 
weel  bear  the  pains  that  he  requires.  Eh,  Meester  Car- 
pentair?" 

Carpenter  was  staring  at  her.  I  had  not  before  seen 
such  intensity  of  concentration  on  his  face.  He  was 
trying  to  understand  this  situation,  so  beyond  all  be- 
lieving. 

"I  weel  tell  you  something,"  said  Madame  Planchet, 
lowering  her  voice  confidentially.  "The  lady  what  you 
hear—that  ees  Meeses  T-S.  You  know  Meester  T-S,  the 
magnate  of  the  peectures?" 

Carpenter  did  not  say  whether  he  knew  or  not. 

"They  come  to  me  always,  the  peecture  people ;  to  me, 
the  magician,  the  deputee  of  the  god  of  beautee.  Polly 
Pretty,  she  comes,  and  Dolly  Dimple,  she  conies,  and 
Lucy  Love,  she  comes,  and  Betty  Belle  Bird.  They 
come  to  me  for  the  hair,  and  for  the  eyes,  and  for  the 
complexion.  You  are  a  workair  of  miracles  yourself — 
but  can  you  do  what  I  do  ?  Can  you  make  the  skeen  all 
new?  Can  you  make  the  old  young?" 

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh !" 

"Mary  Magna,  she  comes  to  me,  and  she  breengs  me 
her  old  grandmother,  and  she  says,  'Madame/  she  says, 
'make  her  new  from  the  waist  up,  for  you  can  nevair 
tell  how  the  fashions  weel  change,  and  what  she  weel 
need  to  show/  Ha,  ha,  ha,  she  ees  wittee,  ees  the  lovely 
Mary!  And  I  take  the  old  lady,  and  her  wrinkles  weel 
be  gone,  and  her  skeen  weel  be  soft  like  a  leetle  baby's, 
and  in  her  cheeks  weel  be  two  lovely  dimples,  and  she 
weel  dance  with  the  young  boys,  and  they  weel  not  know 
her  from  her  grandchild — ha,  ha,  ha! — ees  eet  not  the 
wondair?" 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  27 

I  knew  by  now  where  I  was.  I  had  heard  many  times 
of  Madame  Planchet's  beauty-parlors.  I  sat,  wonder- 
ing; should  I  take  Carpenter  by  the  arm,  and  lead  him 
gently  out?  Or  should  I  leave  him  to  fight  his  own 
fight  with  modern  civilization? 

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh !" 

Madame  turned  suddenly  upon  me.  "I  know  you, 
Meester  Billee,"  she  said.  "I  have  seen  you  with  Mees 
Magna!  Ah,  naughtee  boy!  You  have  the  soft,  fine 
hair — you  should  let  it  grow — eight  inches  we  have  to 
have,  and  then  you  can  come  to  me  for  the  permanent 
wave.  So  many  young  men  come  to  me  for  the  per- 
manent wave!  You  know  eet?  Meester  Carpentair, 
you  see,  he  has  let  hees  hair  grow,  and  he  has  the  per- 
manent wave — eet  could  not  be  bettair  eef  I  had  done 
eet  myself.  I  say  always,  'My  work  ees  bettair  than 
nature,  I  tell  nature  by  the  eemperfections.'  Eh,  voila?" 

I  am  not  sure  whether  it  was  for  the  benefit  of  me  or 
of  Carpenter.  The  deputee  of  the  god  of  beautee  was 
moved  to  volunteer  a  great  revelation.  "Would  you  like 
to  see  how  we  make  eet — the  permanent  wave?  I  weel 
show  you  Messes  T-S.  But  you  must  not  speak — she 
would  not  like  eet  if  I  showed  her  to  gentlemen.  But 
her  back  ees  turned  and  she  cannot  move.  We  do  not 
let  them  see  the  apparatus,  because  eet  ees  rather  fright- 
ful, eet  would  make  them  seek.  You  will  be  very  steel, 
eh?" 

"Mum's  the  word,  Madame,"  said  Rosythe,  speaking 
for  the  three  of  us. 

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh !"  moaned  the  voice. 

"First,  I  weel  tell  you"  said  Madame.  "For  the  com- 
plete wave  we  wind  the  hair  in  tight  leetle  coils  on  many 
rods.  Eet  ees  very  delicate  operations — every  hair  must 


28  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

be  just  so,  not  one  crooked,  not  one  must  we  skeep.  Eet 
takes  a  long  time — two  hours  for  the  long  hair;  and  eet 
hurts,  because  we  must  pull  eet  so  tight.  We  wrap  each 
coil  een  damp  cloths,  and  we  put  them  een  the  con- 
tacts, and  we  turn  on  the  eelectreeceetee — and  then  eet 
ees  many  hours  that  the  hair  ees  baked,  ees  cooked  een 
the  proper  curves,  eh?  Now,  very  steel,  eef  you  please!" 
And  softly  she  opened  the  door. 


X 

Before  us  loomed  what  I  can  only  describe  as  a  moun- 
tain of  red  female  flesh.  This  flesh-mountain  had  once 
apparently  been  slightly  covered  by  embroidered  silk 
lingerie,  but  this  was  now  soaked  in  moisture  and  re- 
duced to  the  texture  of  wet  tissue  paper.  The  top  of  the 
flesh-mountain  ended  in  an  amazing  spectacle.  It  ap- 
peared as  if  the  head  had  no  hair  whatever ;  but  starting 
from  the  bare  scalp  was  an  extraordinary  number  of  thin 
rods,  six  inches  or  so  in  length.  These  rods  stood  out 
in  every  direction,  and  being  of  gleaming  metal,  they 
gave  to  the  head  the  aspect  of  some  bright  Phoebus 
Apollo,  known  as  the  "far-darter;"  or  shall  I  say  some 
fierce  Maenad  with  electric  snakes  having  nickel-plated 
skins ;  or  shall  I  say  some  terrific  modern  war-god,  pour- 
ing poison  gases  from  a  forest  of  chemical  tubes  ?  Over 
the  top  of  the  flesh-mountain  was  a  big  metal  object,  a 
shining  concave  dome  with  which  all  the  tubes  con- 
nected; so  that  a  stranger  to  the  procedure  could  not 
have  felt  sure  whether  the  mountain  was  holding  up  the 
dome,  or  was  dangling  from  it.  A  piece  of  symbolism 
done  by  a  maniac  artist,  whose  meaning  no  one  could 
fathom ! 

From  the  dome  there  was  given  heat;  so  from  the 
pores  of  the  flesh-mountain  came  perspiration.  I  could 
not  say  that  I  actually  saw  perspiration  flowing  from  any 
particular  pore;  it  is  my  understanding  that  pores  are 
small,  and  do  not  squirt  visible  jets.  What  I  could  say 
is  that  I  saw  little  trickles  uniting  to  form  brooks,  and 
brooks  to  form  rivers,  which  ran  down  the  sides  of  the 
flesh-mountain,  and  mingled  in  an  ocean  on  the  floor. 


SO  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

Also  I  observed  that  flesh-mountains  when  exposed  to 
heat  do  not  stand  up  of  their  own  consistency,  but  have 
a  tendency  to  melt  and  flatten;  it  was  necessary  that  this 
bulk  should  be  supported,  so  there  were  three  attendants, 
one  securely  braced  under  each  armpit,  and  the  third 
with  a  more  precarious  grip  under  the  mountain's  chin. 
Every  thirty  seconds  or  so  the  heaving,  sliding  mass 
would  emit  one  of  those  explosive  groans :  "O-o-o-o-o-o- 
o-o-oh!"  Then  it  would  collapse,  an  avalanche  would 
threaten  to  slide,  and  the  living  caryatids  would  shove 
and  struggle. 

Said  Madame  Planchet,  in  her  stage-whisper:  "The 
serveece  of  the  young  god  of  beautee!"  And  my  fancy 
took  flight.  I  saw  proud  vestals  tending  sacred  flames 
on  temple-clad  islands  in  blue  Grecian  seas;  I  saw 
acolytes  waving  censers,  and  grave,  bearded  priests 
walking  in  processions  crowned  with  myrtle-wreaths. 
I  wondered  if  ever  since  the  world  began,  the  young  god 
of  beautee  looking  down  from  his  crystal  throne  had 
beheld  a  stranger  ritual  of  adoration! 

Silently  we  drew  back  from  the  door-way,  and  Madame 
closed  the  door,  reducing  the  promethean  groans  and  the 
strong  ammoniacal  odors.  I  did  not  see  the  face  of  Car- 
penter, because  he  had  turned  it  from  us.  Rosythe 
favored  me  with  a  smile,  and  whispered,  "Your  friend 
doesn't  care  for  beautee!"  Then  he  added,  "What  do 
you  suppose  he  meant  by  that  stuff  about  'the  price  of 
life1  and  'the  choice  of  God?'" 

"Didn't  you  really  get  it?"  I  asked. 

"I'm  damned  if  I  did." 

"My  dear  fellow,"  I  said,  "you  didn't  tell  us  what  sort 
of  place  this  was;  and  Carpenter  thought  it  must  be  a 
maternity-ward." 


THEY  CAUL  ME  CARPENTER  31 

The  moving  picture  critic  of  the  Western  City  "Times" 
gave  me  one  wild  look;  then  from  his  throat  there  came 
a  sound  like  the  sudden  bleat  of  a  young  sheep  in  pain. 
It  caused  Carpenter  to  start,  and  Madame  Planchet  to 
start,  and  for  the  first  time  since  we  entered  the  place, 
the  birds  of  paradise  gave  signs  of  life  elsewhere  than 
in  the  eye-muscles.  The  sheep  gave  a  second  bleat,  and 
then  a  third,  and  Rosythe,  red  in  the  face  and  apparently 
choking,  turned  and  fled  to  the  corridor. 

Madame  Planchet  drew  me  apart  and  said:  "Meester 
Billee,  tell  me  something.  Ees  eet  true  that  thees  gen- 
tleman ees  a  healer?  He  takes  away  the  pains?" 

"He  did  it  for  me,"  I  answered. 

"He  ees  vairy  handsome,  eh,  Meester  Billee?" 

"Yes,  that  is  true." 

"I  have  an  idea;  eet  ees  a  wondair."  She  turned  to 
my  friend.  "Meester  Carpentair,  they  tell  me  that  you 
heal  the  pains.  I  think  eet  would  be  a  vairy  fine  thing 
eef  you  would  come  to  my  parlor  and  attend  the  ladies 
while  I  give  them  the  permanent  wave,  and  while  I  skeen 
them,  and  make  them  the  dimples  and  the  sweet  smiles. 
They  suffer  so,  the  poor  dears,  and  eef  you  would  sect  and 
hold  their  hands,  they  would  love  eet,  they  would  <come 
every  day  for  eet,  and  you  would  be  famous,  and  you 
would  be  reech.  You  would  meet — oh,  such  lovely 
ladies !  The  best  people  in  the  ceety  come  to  my  beauty 
parlors,  and  they  would  adore  you,  Meester  Carpentair — 
what  do  you  say  to  eet?" 

It  struck  me  as  curious,  as  I  looked  bafck  upon  it; 
Madame  Planchet  so  far  had  not  heard  the  sound  of 
Carpenter's  voice.  Now  she  forced  him  to  speak,  but 
she  did  not  force  him  to  look  at  her.  His  gaze  went  over 
her  head,  as  if  he  were  seeing  a  vision;  he  recited: 


32  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

"Because  the  daughters  of  Zion  are  haughty,  and  walk 
with  stretched  forth  necks  and  wanton  eyes,  walking  and 
mincing  as  they  go,  and  making  a  tinkling  with  their 
feet ;  therefore  the  Lord  will  smite  with  a  scab  the  crown 
of  the  head  of  the  daughters  of  Zion,  and  the  Lord  will 
discover  their  secret  parts." 

"Oh,  mon  Dieu !"  cried  Madame  Planchet. 

"In  that  day  the  Lord  will  take  away  the  bravery  of 
their  twinkling  ornaments  about  their  feet,  and  their 
icauls,  and  their  round  tires  like  the  moon,  the  chains, 
and  the  bracelets,  and  the  mufflers,  the  bonnets,  and  the 
ornaments  of  the  legs,  and  the  headbands,  and  the  tab- 
lets, and  the  earrings,  the  rings  and  nose  jewels,  the 
changeable  suits  of  apparel,  and  the  mantles,  and  the 
wimples,  and  the  crisping  pins,  the  glasses,  and  the  fine 
linen,  and  the  hoods,  and  the  veils.  And  it  shall  come 
to  pass  that  instead  of  sweet  smell  there  shall  be  stink; 
and  instead  of  a  girdle  a  rent;  and  instead  of  well  set 
hair,  baldness;  and  instead  of  a  stomacher  a  girding  of 
sackcloth:  and  burning  instead  of  beauty." 

And  at  that  moment  the  door  from  the  corridor  was 
flung  open,  and  Mary  Magna  came  in. 


XI 

"My  God,  will  you  look  who's  here !  Billy,  wretched 
creature,  I  haven't  laid  eyes  on  you  for  two  months !  Do 
you  have  to  desert  me  entirely,  just  because  you've  fallen 
in  love  with  a  society  girl  with  the  face  of  a  Japanese 
doll-baby?  What's  the  matter  with  me,  that  I  lose  my 
lovers  faster  than  I  get  them?  Edgerton  Rosythe,  come 
in  here — you've  got  a  good  excuse,  I  admit — I'm  almost 
as  much  scared  of  your  wife  as  you  are  yourself.  But 
still,  I'd  like  a  chance  to  get  tired  of  some  man  first. 
Hello,  Planchet,  how's  my  old  grannie  making  out  in 
your  scalping-shop  ?  Say,  would  you  think  it  would  take 
three  days  labor  for  half  a  dozen  Sioux  squaws  to  pull 
the  skin  off  one  old  lady's  back?  And  a  week  to  tie  up 
the  corners  of  her  mouth  and  give  her  a  permanent  smile ! 
'Why,  grannie/  I  said,  'good  God,  it  would  be  cheaper  to 
hire  Charlie  Chaplin  to  walk  round  in  front  of  you  all  the 
rest  of  your  life  1'  And — why,  what's  this  ?  For  the  love 
of  Peter,  somebody  introduce  me  to  this  gentleman.  Is 
he  a  friend  of  yours,  Billy?  Carpenter?  Excuse  me, 
Mr.  Carpenter,  but  we  picture  people  learn  to  talk  about 
our  faces  and  our  styles,  and  it  isn't  every  day  I  come 
on  a  million  dollars  walking  round  on  two  legs.  Who 
does  the  gentleman  work  for?" 

The  storm  of  Mary  Magna  stopped  long  enough  for  her 
to  stare  from  one  to  another  of  us.  "What  ?  You  mean 
nobody's  got  him?  And  you  all  standing  round  here, 
not  signing  any  contracts  ?  You,  Edgerton — you  haven't 
run  to  the  telephone  to  call  up  Eternal  City  ?  Well,  as  it 
happens,  T-S  is  going  to  be  here  in  five  minutes — his 

33 


34  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

wife  is  being  made  beautiful  once  again  somewhere  in 
this  scalping-shop.  Take  my  advice,  Mr.  Carpenter,  and 
don't  sign  today — the  price  will  go  up  several  hundred 
per  week  as  long  as  you  hold  off." 

Mary  stopped  again;  and  this  was  most  unusual,  for 
as  a  general  rule  she  never  stopped  until  somebody  or 
something  stopped  her.  But  she  was  fascinated  by  the 
spectacle  of  Carpenter.  "My  good  God !  Where  did  he 
come  from?  Why,  it  seems  like — I'm  trying  to  think — 
yes,  it's  the  very  man!  Listen,  Billy;  you  may  not  be- 
lieve it,  but  I  was  in  a  church  a  couple  of  weeks  ago. 
I  went  to  see  Roxanna  Riddle  marry  that  grand  duke 
fellow.  It  was  in  a  big  church  over  by  the  park — St. 
Bartholomew's,  they  call  it.  I  sat  looking  at  a  stained 
glass  window  over  the  altar,  and  Billy,  I  swear  I  believe 
this  Mr.  Carpenter  came  down  from  that  window!" 

"Maybe  he  did,  Mary/'  I  put  in. 

"But  I'm  not  joking!  I  tell  you  he's  the  living,  speak- 
ing image  of  that  figure.  Come  to  think  of  it,  he  isn't 
speaking,  he  hasn't  said  a  word!  Tell  me,  Mr.  Carpen- 
ter, have  you  got  a  voice,  or  are  you  only  a  close  up 
from  'The  Servant  in  the  House*  or  'Ben  Hur'?  Say 
something,  so  I  can  get  a  line  on  you!" 

Again  I  stood  wondering;  how  would  Carpenter  take 
this?  Would  he  bow  his  head  and  run  before  a  hail- 
storm of  feminine  impertinence?  Would  she  "vamp" 
him,  as  she  did  every  man  who  came  near  her?  Or 
would  this  man  do  what  no  man  alive  had  yet  been  able 
to  do — reduce  her  to  silence? 

He  smiled  gently ;  and  I  saw  that  she  had  vamped  him 
this  much,  at  least — he  was  going  to  be  polite !  "Mary," 
he  said,  "I  think  you  are  carrying  everything  but  the 
nose  jewels/' 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  35 

"Nose  jewels?  What  a  horrid  idea!  Where  did  you 
get  that?" 

"When  you  came  in,  I  was  quoting  the  prophet  Isaiah. 
Some  eighty  generations  of  ladies  have  lived  on  earth 
since  his  day,  Mary;  they  have  won  the  ballot,  but  ap- 
parently they  haven't  discovered  anything  new  in  the 
way  of  ornaments.  Some  of  the  prophet's  words  may 
be  strange  to  you,  but  if  you  study  them  you  will  see 
that  you've  got  everything  he  lists :  'their  tinkling  orna- 
ments about  their  feet,  and  their  cauls,  and  their  round 
tires  like  the  moon,  the  chains,  and  the  bracelets,  and  the 
mufflers,  the  bonnets,  and  the  ornaments  of  the  legs,  and 
the  headbands,  and  the  tablets,  and  the  earrings,  the  rings, 
and  nose  jewels,  the  changeable  suits  of  apparel,  and 
the  mantles,  and  the  wimples,  and  the  crisping  pins,  the 
glasses,  and  the  fine  linen,  and  the  hoods,  and  the  veils/ '' 

As  Carpenter  recited  this  list,  his  eyes  roamed  from 
one  part  to  another  of  the  wondrous  "get  up"  of  Mary 
Magna.  You  can  imagine  her  facing  him — that  bold 
and  vivid  figure  which  you  have  seen  as  "Cleopatra"  and 
"Salome,"  as  "Dubarry"  and  "Anne  Boleyn,"  and  I  know 
not  how  many  other  of  the  famous  courtesans  and  queens 
of  history.  In  daily  life  her  style  and  manner  is  every 
bit  as  staggering;  she  is  a  gorgeous  brunette,  and  wears 
all  the  colors  there  are — when  she  goes  down  the  street 
it  is  like  a  whole  procession  with  flags.  I'll  wager  that, 
apart  from  her  jewels,  which  may  or  may  not  have  been 
real,  she  was  carrying  not  less  than  five  thousand  dollars 
worth  of  stuff  that  fall  afternoon.  A  big  black  picture 
hat,  with  a  flower  garden  and  parts  of  an  aviary  on  top- 
but  what's  the  use  of  going  over  Isaiah's  list? 

"Everything  but  the  nose  jewels,"  said  Carpenter,  "and 
they  may  be  in  fashion  next  week." 


36  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

"How  about  the  glasses?"  put  in  Rosythe,  entering 
into  the  fun. 

"Oh,  shucks!"  said  I,  protecting  my  friend.  "Turn 
out  the  contents  of  your  vanity-bag,  Mary." 

"And  the  crisping-pins  ?"  laughed  the  critic. 

"Hasn't  Madame  Planchet  just  shown  us  those?" 

All  this  while  Mary  had  not  taken  her  eyes  off  Car- 
penter. "So  you  are  really  one  of  those  religious  fel- 
lows !"  she  exclaimed.  "You'll  know  exactly  what  to  do 
without  any  directing!  How  perfectly  incredible!" 
And  at  that  appropriate  moment  T-S  pushed  open  the 
door  and  waddled  in! 


XII 

You  know  the  screen  stars,  of  course ;  but  maybe  you 
do  not  know  those  larger  celestial  bodies,  the  dark  and 
silent  and  invisible  stars  from  which  the  shining  ones 
derive  their  energies.  So,  permit  me  to  introduce  you 
to  T-S,  the  trade  abbreviation  for  a  name  which  nobody 
can  remember,  which  even  his  secretaries  have  to  keep 
typed  on  a  slip  of  paper  just  above  their  machine — 
Tszchniczklefritszch.  He  came  a  few  years  ago  from 
Ruthenia,  or  Rumelia,  or  Roumania — one  of  those  coun- 
tries where  the  consonants  are  so  greatly  in  excess  of 
the  vowels.  If  you  are  as  rich  as  he,  you  call  him  Abey, 
which  is  easy;  otherwise,  you  call  him  Mr.  T-S,  which 
he  accepts  as  a  part  of  his  Americanization. 

He  is  shorter  than  you  or  I,  and  has  found  that  he 
can't  grow  upward,  but  can  grow  without  limit  in  all 
lateral  directions.  There  is  always  a  little  more  of  him 
than  his  clothing  can  hold,  and  it  spreads  out  in  rolls 
about  his  collar.  He  has  a  yellowish  face,  which  turns 
red  easily.  He  has  small,  shiny  eyes,  he  speaks  atrocious 
English,  he  is  as  devoid  of  culture  as  a  hairy  Ainu,  and 
he  smells  money  and  goes  after  it  like  a  hog  into  a  swill- 
trough. 

"Hello,  everybody!    Madame,  vere's  de  old  voman? 

"She  ees  being  dressed — " 

"Veil,  speed  her  up!  I  got  no  time.  I  got— Jesus 
Christ!" 

"Yes,  exactly,"  said  Mary  Magna. 

The  great  man  of  the  pictures  stood  rooted  to  the  spot. 
"Vot's  dis?  Some  joke  you  people  playin'  on  me?"  He 

37 


38  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

shot  a  suspicious  glance  from  one  to  another  of  us. 

"No,"  said  Mary,  "he's  real.     Honest  to  God!" 

"Oh!  You  bring  him  for  an  engagement.  Veil,  I 
don't  do  no  business  outside  my  office.  Send  him  to 
see  Lipsky  in  de  morninV 

"He  hasn't  asked  for  an  engagement,"  said  Mary. 

"Oh,  he  ain't.  Veil,  vot's  he  hangin'  about  for?  Been 
gittin'  a  permanent  vave  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha !" 

"Cut  it  out,  Abey,"  said  Mary  Magna.  "This  is  a 
gentleman,  and  you  must  be  decent.  Mr.  Carpenter, 
meet  Mr.  T-S." 

"Carpenter,  eh?  Veil,  Mr.  Carpenter,  if  I  vas  to  make 
a  picture  vit  you  I  gotta  spend  a  million  dollars  on  it — 
you  know  you  can't  make  no  cheap  skate  picture  fer  a 
ting  like  dat,  if  you  do  you  got  a  piece  o'  cheese.  It'd 
gotta  be  a  costume  picture,  and  you  got  shoost  as  much 
show  to  market  vun  o'  dem  today  as  you  got  vit  a 
pauper's  funeral.  I  spend  all  dat  money,  and  no  show 
to  git  it  back,  and  den  you  actors  tink  I'm  makin'  ten 
million  a  veek  off  you — " 

"Cut  it  out,  Abey!"  broke  in  Mary.  "Mr.  Carpenter 
hasn't  asked  anything  of  you." 

"Oh,  he  ain't,  hey?  So  dat's  his  game.  Veil,  he'll 
find  maybe  I  can  vait  as  long  as  de  next  feller.  Ven  he 
gits  ready  to  talk  business,  he  knows  vere  Eternal  City 
is,  I  guess.  Vot's  de  matter,  Madame,  you  got  dat  old 
voman  o'  mine  melted  to  de  chair?" 

"I'll  see,  111  see,  Meester  T-S,"  said  Madame,  hustling 
out  of  the  room. 

Mary  came  up  to  the  great  man.  "See  here,  Abey," 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "you're  making  the  worst  mis- 
take of  your  life.  Apparently  this  man  hasn't  been  dis- 
covered. When  he  is,  you  know  what'll  happen." 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  39 

" Vere  doss  he  come  from  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  Billy  here  brought  him.  I  said  he 
must  have  come  out  of  a  stained  glass  window  in  St. 
Bartholomew's  Church/' 

"Oho,  ho!"  said  T-S. 

"Anyhow,  he's  new,  and  he's  too  good  to  keep.  The 
paper's  '11  get  hold  of  him  sure.  Just  look  at  him !" 

"But,  Mary,  can  he  act?" 

"Act  ?  My  God,  he  don't  have  to  act !  He  only  has  to 
look  at  you,  and  you  want  to  fall  at  his  feet.  Go  be  de- 
cent to  him,  and  find  out  what  he  wants." 

The  great  man  surveyed  the  figure  of  the  stranger 
appraisingly.  Then  he  went  up  to  him.  "See  here,  Mr. 
Carpenter,  maybe  I  could  make  you  famous.  Vould  you 
like  dat?" 

"I  have  never  thought  of  being  famous,"  was  the  reply. 

"Veil,  you  tink  of  it  now.  If  I  hire  you,  I  make  you 
de  greatest  actor  in  de  vorld.  I  make  it  a  propaganda 
picture  fer  de  churches,  dey  vould  show  it  to  de  headens 
in  China  and  in  Zululand.  I  make  you  a  contract  fer 
ten  years,  and  I  pay  you  five  hunded  dollars  a  veek, 
vedder  you  vork  or  not,  and  you  vouldn't  have  to  vork 
so  much,  because  I  don't  catch  myself  makin'  a  million 
dollar  feature  picture  vit  gawd  amighty  and  de  angels 
in  it  for  no  regular  veekly  releases.  Maybe  you  find 
some  cheap  skate  feller  vit  some  vild  icat  company  vot 
promise  you  more;  but  he  sells  de  picture  and  makes 
over  de  money  to  his  vife's  brudders,  and  den  he  goes 
bust,  and  vere  you  at  den,  hey?  Mary  Magna,  here,  she 
tell  you,  if  you  git  a  contract  vit  old  Abey,  it's  shoost 
like  you  got  libbidy  bonds.  I  make  dat  lovely  lady  a 
check  every  veek  fer  tirty-five  hunded  dollars,  an'  I 
gotta  sign  it  vit  my  own  hand,  and  I  tell  you  it  gives 


40  THEY  CALL  ME  CAKPENTEE 

me  de  cramps  to  sign  so  much  money  all  de  time,  but  I 
do  it,  and  you  see  all  dem  rings  and  ribbons  and  veils  and 
tings  vot  she  buys  vit  de  money,  she  looks  like  a  jeweler's 
shop  and  a  toy-store  all  rolled  into  vun  goin'  valkin' 
down  de  street." 

"Mr.  Carpenter  was  just  scolding  me  for  that,"  said 
Mary.  "I've  an  idea  if  you  pay  him  a  salary,  he'll  feed 
it  to  the  poor." 

"If  I  pay  it,"  said  T-S,  "it's  his,  and  he  can  feed  it  to 
de  dicky-birds  if  he  vants  to.  Vot  you  say,  Mr.  Car- 
penter?" 

I  was  waiting  with  curiosity  to  hear  what  he  would 
say;  but  at  that  moment  the  door  from  the  "maternity- 
room"  was  opened,  and  the  voice  of  Madame  Planchet 
broke  in:  "Here  she  ees!"  And  the  flesh-mountain  ap- 
peared, with  the  two  caryatids  supporting  her. 


XIII 

"My  Gawd!"  gasped  Mrs.  T-S.    "I'm  dyin'I" 

Her  husband  responded,  beaming,  "So  you  gone  and 
done  it  again!" 

Said  Mrs.  T-S :    "I'll  never  do  it  no  more !" 

Said  the  husband:  "Y'allus  say  dat.  Fergit  it,  Maw, 
you're  all  right  now,  you  don't  have  to  have  your  hair 
frizzed  fer  six  mont's!" 

Said  Mrs.  T-S:  "I  gotta  lie  down.  I'm  dyin',  Abey, 
I  tell  you.  Lemme  git  on  de  sofa." 

Said  the  husband:  "Now,  Maw,  we  gotta  git  to  din- 
ner—" 

"I  can't  eat  no  dinner." 

"Vot?"  There  was  genuine  alarm  in  the  husband's 
voice.  "You  can't  ea,t  no  dinner?  Sure  you  gotta  eat 
your  dinner.  You  can't  live  if  you  don't  eat.  Come 
along  now,  Maw." 

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh !" 

T-S  went  and  stood  before  her,  and  a  grin  came  over 
his  face.  "Sure,  now,  ain't  it  fine?  Say,  Mary,  look  at 
dem  lovely  curves.  Billy,  shoost  look  here!  Vy,  she 
looks  like  a  kid  again,  don't  she!  Madame,  you're  a 
daisy — you  sure  deliver  de  goods." 

Madame  Planchet  beamed,  and  the  flesh-mountain  was 
feebly  cheered.  "You  like  it,  Abey?" 

"Sure,  I  like  it!  Maw,  it's  grand!  It's  like  I  got  a 
new  girl!  Come  on  now,  git  up,  ve  go  git  our  dinner, 
and  den  ve  gotta  see  dem  night  scenes  took.  Don't 
forgit,  ve're  payin'  two  tousand  men  five  dollars  apiece 
tonight,  and  ve  gotta  git  our  money  out  of  'em."  Then, 

41 


42  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

taking  for  granted  that  this  settled  it,  he  turned  to  the 
rest,  "You  come  vit  us,  Mary?" 

"I  must  wait  for  my  grannie." 

"Sure,  you  leave  your  car  fer  grannie,  and  you  come 
vit  us,  and  ve  git  some  dinner,  and  den  ve  see  dem  mob 
scenes  took.  You  come  along,  Mr.  Carpenter,  I  gotta 
have  some  talk  vit  you.  And  you,  Billy?  And  Rosy  the 
— come,  pile  in." 

"I  have  to  wait  for  the  missus,"  said  the  critic.  "We 
have  a  date." 

"Veil,  said  T-S,  and  he  went  up  [close.  "You  do  me 
a  favor,  Rosythe;  don't  say  nuttin'  about  dis  fellow 
Carpenter  tonight.  I  feed  him  and  git  him  feelin'  good, 
and  den  I  make  a  contract  vit  him,  and  I  give  you  a  front 
page  telegraph  story,  see?" 

"All  right,"  said  the  critic. 

"Mum's  de  vord  now,"  said  the  magnate ;  and  he 
waddled  out,  and  the  two  caryatids  lifted  the  flesh-moun- 
tain, and  half  carried  it  to  the  elevator,  and  Mary  walked 
with  Carpenter,  and  I  brought  up  the  rear. 

The  car  of  T-S  was  waiting  at  the  door,  and  this  car 
is  something  special.  It  is  long,  like  a  freight-car,  made 
all  of  shining  gun-metal,  or  some  such  material ;  the  huge 
wheels  are  of  solid  metal,  and  the  fenders  are  so  big  and 
solid,  it  looks  like  an  armored  military  car.  There  is  an 
extra  wheel  on  each  side,  and  two  more  locked  on  to  the 
rear.  There  is  a  chauffeur  in  uniform,  and  a  footman  in 
uniform,  just  to  open  the  doors  and  close  them  and  salute 
you  as  you  enter.  Inside,  it  is  all  like  the  sofas  in  Mad- 
ame's  scalping  shop;  you  fall  into  them,  and  soft  furs 
enfold  you,  and  you  give  a  sigh  of  [contentment,  "O-o-o- 
o-o-o-o-o-oh !" 

"Prince's,"  said  T-S  to  the  chauffeur,  and  the  palace 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  43 

on  wheels  began  to  glide  along.  It  occurred  to  me  to 
wonder  that  T-S  was  not  embarrassed  to  take  Carpenter 
to  a  fashionable  eating-place.  But  I  could  read  his 
thoughts ;  everybody  would  assume  that  he  had  been  "on 
location"  with  one  of  his  stars;  and  anyhow,  what  the 
hell  ?  Wasn't  he  Abey  Tszchniczklef ritszch  ? 

" Wor-r-r-r-r !  Wor-r-r-r-r-r !"  snarled  the  horn  of  the 
car;  and  I  could  understand  the  meaning  of  this  also. 
It  said:  "I  am  the  car  of  Abey  Tszchniczklef  ritszch, 
king  of  the  movies,  future  king  of  the  world.  Get  the 
hell  out  o'  my  way !"  So  we  sped  through  the  crowded 
streets,  and  pedestrians  scattered  like  autumn  leaves  be- 
fore a  storm.  "My  Gawd,  but  I'm  hungry!"  said  T-S. 
"I  ain't  had  nuttin'  to  eat  since  lunch-time.  How  goes 
it,  Maw?  Feelin'  better?  Veil,  you  bs  all  right  ven 
you  git  your  grub." 

So  we  came  to  Prince's,  and  drew  up  before  the  porte- 
cochere,  and  found  ourselves  confronting  an  adventure. 
There  was  a  crowd  before  the  place,  a  surging  throng 
half-way  down  the  block,  with  a  whole  line  of  policemen 
to  hold  them  back.  Over  the  heads  of  the  crowd  were 
transparencies,  frame  boxes  with  canvas  on,  and  lights 
inside,  and  words  painted  on  them.  "Hello !"  cried  T-S. 
"Vot's  dis?" 

Suddenly  I  recalled  what  I  had  read  in  the  morning's 
paper.  The  workers  of  the  famous  lobster  palace  had 
gone  on  strike,  and  trouble  was  feared.  I  told  T-S,  and 
he  exclaimed:  "Oh,  hell!  Ain't  ve  got  troubles  enough 
vit  strikers  in  de  studios,  vitout  dey  come  spoilin'  our 
dinner?" 

The  footman  had  jumped  from  his  seat,  and  had  the 
door  open,  and  the  great  man  began  to  alight.  At  that 
moment  the  mob  set  up  a  howl.  "For  shame!  For 


44  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

shame !  Unfair !  Don't  go  in  there !  They  starve  their 
workers!  They're  taking  the  bread  out  of  our  mouths! 
Scabs!  Scabs!" 

I  got  out  second,  and  saw  a  spectacle  of  haggard  faces, 
shouting  menaces  and  pleadings;  I  saw  hands  waved 
wildly,  one  or  two  fists  clenched ;  I  saw  the  police,  shov- 
ing against  the  mass,  poking  with  their  sticks,  none  too 
gently.  A  poor  devil  in  a  waiter's  costume  stretched 
out  his  arms  to  me,  yelling  in  a  foreign  dialect:  "You 
take  de  food  from  my  babies!"  The  next  moment  the 
fclub  of  a  policeman  came  down  on  his  head,  crack.  I 
heard  Mary  scream  behind  me,  and  I  turned,  just  in  the 
^nick  of  time.  Carpenter  was  leaping  toward  the  police- 
man, crying,  "Stop !" 

There  was  no  chance  to  parley  in  this  emergency.  I 
grabbed  Carpenter  in  a  foot-ball  tackle.  I  got  one  arm 
pinned  to  his  side,  and  Mary,  good  old  scout,  got  the 
other  as  quickly.  She  is  a  bit  of  an  athlete — has  to  keep 
in  training  for  those  hoochie-coochies  and  things  she 
does,  when  she  wins  the  love  of  emperors  and  sultans 
and  such-like  world-conquerors.  Also,  when  we  got 
hold  of  Carpenter,  we  discovered  that  he  wasn't  much 
but  skin  and  bones  anyhow.  We  fairly  lifted  him  up 
and  rushed  him  into  the  restaurant;  and  after  the  first 
moment  he  stopped  resisting,  and  let  us  lead  him  between 
the  aisles  of  diners,  on  the  heels  of  the  toddling  T-S. 
There  was  a  table  reserved,  in  an  alcove,  and  we  brought 
him  to  it,  and  then  waited  to  see  what  we  had  done. 


XIV 

Carpenter  turned  to  me — and  those  sad  but  everchang- 
ing  eyes  were  flashing.  "You  have  taken  a  great 
liberty!" 

"There  wasn't  any  time  to  argue/'  I  said.  "If  you 
knew  what  I  know  about  the  police  of  Western  City  and 
their  manners,  you  wouldn't  want  to  monkey  with  them. 

Mary  backed  me  up  earnestly.  "They'd  have  mashed 
your  face,  Mr.  Carpenter." 

"My  face  ?"  he  repeated.  "Is  not  a  man  more  than  his 
fate?" 

You  should  have  heard  the  shout  of  T-S!  "Vot? 
Ain't  I  shoost  offered  you  five  hunded  dollars  a  veek 
fer  dat  face,  and  you  vant  to  go  git  it  smashed?  And 
fer  a  lot  o*  lousy  bums  dat  vont  vork  for  honest  vages, 
and  vont  let  nobody  else  vork!  Honest  to  Gawd,  Mr. 
Carpenter,  I  tell  you  some  stories  about  strikes  vot  we 
had  on  our  own  lot — you  vouldn't  spoil  your  face  for 
such  lousy  sons-o'-guns — " 

"Ssh,  Abey,  don't  use  such  langwich,  you  should  to  be 
shamed  of  yourself!"  It  was  Maw,  guardian  of  the 
proprieties,  who  had  been  extracted  from  the  car  by  the 
footman,  and  helped  to  the  table. 

"Veil,  Mr.  Carpenter,  he  dunno  vot  dem  fellers  is 
like—" 

"Sit  down,  Abey!"  commanded  the  old  lady.  "Ve 
ain't  ordered  no  stump  speeches  fer  our  dinner." 

We  seated  ourselves.  And  Carpenter  turned  his  dark 
eyes  on  me.  "I  observe  that  you  have  many  kinds  of 
mobs  in  your  city,"  he  remarked.  "And  the  police  do 
interfere  with  some  of  them." 

45 


46  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

"My  Gawd!"  cried  T-S.  "You  gonna  have  a  lot  o' 
bums  jumpin'  on  people  ven  dey  try  to  git  to  dinner?" 

Said  Carpenter:  "Mr.  Rosythe  said  that  the  police 
would  not  work  unless  they  were  paid.  May  I  ask,  who 
pays  them  to  work  here?  Is  it  the  proprietor  of  the 
restaurant  ?" 

"Veil,"  cried  T-S,  "ain't  he  gotta  take  care  of  his 
place?" 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  I,  laughing,  "from  what  I 
read  in  the  'Times'  this  morning,  I  gather  that  an  old 
friend  of  Mr.  Carpenter's  has  been  paying  in  this  case." 

Carpenter  looked  at  me  inquiringly. 

"Mr.  Algernon  de  Wiggs,  president  of  the  Chamber  of 
Commerce,  issued  a  statement  denouncing  the  way  the 
police  were  letting  mobs  of  strikers  interfere  with  busi- 
ness, and  proposing  that  the  Chamber  take  steps  to  stop 
it.  You  remember  de  Wiggs,  and  how  we  left  him?" 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Carpenter;  and  we  exchanged 
a  smile  over  that  trick  we  had  played. 

I  could  see  T-S  prick  forward  his  ears.  "Vot?  You 
know  de  Viggs?" 

"Mr.  Carpenter  possesses  an  acquaintance  with  our 
best  society  which  will  astonish  you  when  you  realize  it." 

"Vy  didn't  you  tell  me  dat?"  demanded  the  other;  and 
I  could  complete  the  sentence  for  him:  "Somebody  has 
offered  him  more  money !" 

Here  the  voice  of  Maw  was  heard:  "Ain't  vs  gonna 
git  nuttin'  to  eat?" 

So  for  a  time  the  problem  of  capital  and  labor  was  put 
to  one  side.  There  were  two  waiters  standing  by,  very 
nervous,  because  of  the  strike.  T-S  grabbed  the  fcard 
from  one,  and  read  off  a  list  of  food,  which  the  waiter 
wrote  down.  Maw,  who  was  learning  the  rudiments  of 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  47 

etiquette,  handed  her  card  to  Mary,  who  gave  her  order, 
and  then  Maw  gave  hers,  and  I  gave  mine,  and  there  was 
only  Carpenter  left. 

He  was  sitting,  his  dark  eyes  roaming  here  and  there 
about  the  dining-room.  Prince's,  as  you  may  know,  is  a 
gorgeous  establishment:  too  much  so  for  my  taste — it 
has  almost  as  much  gilded  moulding  as  if  T-S  had  de- 
signed it  for  a  picture  palace.  In  front  of  Carpenter's 
eyes  sat  a  dame  with  a  bare  white  back,  and  a  rope  of 
big  pearls  about  it,  and  a  tiara  of  diamonds  on  top ;  and 
beyond  her  were  more  dames,  and  yet  more,  and  men  in 
dinner-coats,  putting. food  into  red  faces.  You  and  I 
get  used  to  such  things,  but  I  could  understand  that  to 
a  stranger  it  must  be  shocking  to  see  so  many  people 
feeding  so  expensively.  , 

"Vot  you  vant  to  order,  Mr.  Carpenter?"  demanded 
T-S;  and  I  waited,  full  of  curiosity.  What  would  this 
man  choose  to  eat  in  a  "lobster  palace"? 

Carpenter  took  the  card  from  his  host  and  studied  it. 
Apparently  he  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  the  most  sub- 
stantial part  of  the  menu.  "I'll  have  prime  ribs  of  beef," 
said  he ;  "and  boiled  mutton  with  caper  sauce ;  and  young 
spring  turkey;  and  squab  en  casserole;  and  milk  fed 
guinea  fowl — "  The  waiter,  of  course,  was  obediently 
writing  down  each  item.  "And  planked  steak  with 
mushrooms;  and  braised  spare  ribs — " 

"My  Gawd !"  broke  in  the  host. 

"And  roast  teal  duck;  and  lamb  kidneys — " 

"Fer  the  love  o*  Mike,  Mr.  Carpenter,  you  gonna  eat 
all  dat?" 

"No ;  of  course  not." 

"Den  vot  you  gonna  do  vit  it?" 

"I'm  going  to  take  it  to  the  hungry  men  outside." 


48  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

Well,  sir,  you'd  have  thought  the  world  had  stopped 
turning  round,  so  still  it  was.  The  two  waiters  nearly 
dropped  their  order-pads  and  their  napkins;  they  did 
drop  their  jaws,  and  Mrs.  T-S's  permanent  wave  seemed 
about  to  go  flat. 

"Oh,  hell!"  cried  T-S  at  last.    You  can't  do  it!" 
"I  can't?" 

"You  can't  order  only  vot  you  gonna  eat." 
"But  then,  I  don't  want  anything.     I'm  not  hungry." 
"But  you  can't  sit  here  like  a  dummy,  man!"    He 
turned  to  the  waiter.     "You  bring  him  de  same  vot  you 
bring  me.    Unnerstand?    And  git  a  move  on,  cause  I'm 
starvin'.     Fade  out  now!"    And  the  waiter  turned  and 
fled. 


XV 

The  proprietor  of  Eternal  City  wiped  his  perspiring1 
iorehead  with  his  napkin,  and  started  rather  hurriedly  to 
make  conversation.  I  understood  that  he  wanted  to  en- 
joy his  dinner,  and  proposed  to  talk  about  something 
pleasant  in  the  meantime.  "I  vonna  tell  you  about  dis 
picture  ve're  goin*  to  see  took,  Mr.  Carpenter.  I  vant 
you  should  see  de  scale  ve  do  tings  on,  ven  ve  got  a  big 
subjic.  Y'unnerstand,  dis  is  a  feature  picture  ve're 
makin'  now ;  a  night  picture,  a  big  mob  scene." 

"Mob  scene?"  said  Carpenter.  "You  have  so  many 
mobs  in  this  world  of  yours!" 

"Veil,  sure,"  said  T-S.  "You  gotta  take  dis  vorld  de 
vay  you  find  it.  Y'can't  change  human  nature,  y'know. 
But  dis  vot  you're  gonna  see  tonight  is  only  a  play  mob, 
y'unnerstand." 

"That  is  what  seems  strangest  of  all  to  me,"  said  the 
other,  thoughtfully.  "You  like  mobs  so  well  that  you 
make  imitation  ones !" 

"Veil,  de  people,  dey  like  to  see  crowds  in  a  picture, 
and  dey  like  to  see  action.  If  you  gonna  have  a  big 
picture,  you  gotta  spend  de  money." 

"Why  not  take  this  real  mob  that  is  outside  the  door?" 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  Ve  couldn't  verk  dat  very  good,  Mr. 
Carpenter.  Ve  gotta  have  it  in  de  right  set;  and  ven 
you  git  a  real  mob,  it  don't  alvays  do  vot  you  vant  ex- 
actly !  Besides,  you  can't  take  night  pictures  unless  you 
got  your  lights  and  everyting.  No,  ve  gotta  make  our 
mobs  to  order;  ve  got  two  tousand  fellers  hired — " 

49 


50  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

"What  Mr.  Rosythe  called  'studio  bums'?  You  have 
that  many?" 

"Sure,  ve  could  git  ten  tousand  if  de  set  vould  hold 
'em.  Dis  picture  is  called  'De  Tale  o'  Two  Cities/  and 
it's  de  French  revolution.  It's  about  a  feller  vot  takes 
anodder  feller's  place  and  gits  his  head  cut  off;  and  say, 
dere's  a  sob  story  in  it  vot's  a  vunder.  Ven  dey  brought 
me  de  scenario,  I  says,  "Who's  de  author?"  Dey  says, 
'It's  a  guy  named  Charles  Dickens/  'Dickens?'  says  I. 
'Veil,  I  like  his  verk.  Vot's  his  address?'  And  Lipsky, 
he  says,  says  he,  'Dey  tell  me  he  stays  in  a  place  called 
Vestminster  Abbey,  in  England/  'Veil/  says  I,  'send 
him  a  cablegram  and  find  out  vot  he'll  take  fer  an  ex- 
clusive contract/  So  ve  sent  a  cablegram  to  Charles 
Dickens,  Vestminster  Abbey,  England,  and  ve  didn't  git 
no  answer,  and  come  to  find  out,  de  boys  in  de  studios 
vas  havin*  a  laugh  on  old  Abey,  because  dis  guy  Dickens 
is  some  old  time  feller,  and  de  Abbey  is  vere  dey  got 
his  bones.  Veil,  dey  can  have  deir  fun — how  de  hell's 
a  feller  like  me  gonna  git  time  to  know  about  writers? 
Vy,  only  twelve  years  ago,  Maw  here  and  me  vas  carryin' 
pants  in  a  push-cart  fer  a  livin',  and  ve  didn't  know  if  a 
book  vas  top-side  up  or  bottom — ain't  it,  Maw?" 

Maw  certified  that  it  was — though  I  thought  not  quite 
so  eagerly  as  her  husband.  There  were  five  little  T-S's 
growing  up,  and  bringing  pressure  to  let  the  dead  past 
stay  buried,  in  Vestminster  Abbey  or  wherever  it  might 
be. 

The  waiter  brought  the  dinner,  and  spread  it  before 
us.  And  T-S  tucked  his  napkin  under  both  ears,  and 
grabbed  his  knife  in  one  hand  and  his  fork  in  the  other, 
and  took  a  long  breath,  and  said :  "Good-bye,  folks.  See 
you  later!"  And  he  went  to  work. 


XVI 

For  five  minutes  or  so  there  was  no  sound  but  that  of 
one  man's  food  going  in  and  going  down.  Then  sud- 
denly the  man  stopped,  with  his  knife  and  fork  upright 
on  the  table  in  each  hand,  and  cried :  "Mr.  Carpenter,  you 
ain't  eatin'  nuttin'!" 

The  stranger,  who  had  apparently  been  in  a  day- 
dream, came  suddenly  back  to  Prince's.  He  looked  at 
the  quantities  of  food  spread  about  him.  "If  you'd  only 
let  me  take  a  little  to  those  men  outside!"  He  said  it 
pleadingly. 

But  T-S  tapped  imperiously  on  the  table,  with  both 
his  knife  and  fork  together.  "Mr.  Carpenter,  eat  your 
dinner!  Eat  it,  now,  I  say!"  It  was  as  if  he  were 
dealing  with  one  of  the  five  little  T-S's.  And  Carpenter, 
strange  as  it  may  seem,  obeyed.  He  picked  up  a  bit  of 
bread,  and  began  to  nibble  it,  and  T-S  went  to  work 
again. 

There  was  another  five  minutes  of  silence;  and  then 
the  picture  magnate  stopped,  with  a  look  of  horror  on 
his  face.  "My  Gawd!  He's  cryin'!"  Sure  enough, 
there  were  two  large  tears  trickling,  one  down  each 
cheek  of  the  stranger,  and  dropping  on  the  bread  he  was 
putting  into  his  mouth! 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Carpenter,"  protested  T-S.  "Is  it 
dem  strikers?" 

"I'm  sorry ;  you  see — " 

"Now,  honest,  man,  vy  should  you  spoil  your  dinner 
fer  a  bunch  o'  damn  lousy  loafers — " 

"Abey,  vot  a  vay  to  talk  at  a  dinner-party !"  broke  in 
Maw. 

51 


52  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

And  then  suddenly  Mary  Magna  spoke.  It  was  a 
strange  thing,  though  I  did  not  realize  it  until  after- 
wards. Mary,  the  irrepressible,  had  hardly  said  one 
word  since  we  left  the  beauty  parlors !  Mary,  always  the 
life  of  dinner  parties,  was  sitting  like  a  woman  who  had 
seen  the  ghost  of  a  dead  child;  her  eyes  following  Car- 
penter's, her  mind  evidently  absorbed  in  probing  his 
thoughts. 

"Abey!"  said  she,  with  sudden  passion,  of  a  sort  I'd 
never  seen  her  display  before.  "Forget  your  grub  for  a 
moment,  I  have  something  to  say.  Here's  a  man  with  a 
heart  full  of  love  for  other  people — while  you  and  I  are 
just  trying  to  see  what  we  can  get  out  of  them !  A  man 
who  really  has  a  religion — and  you're  trying  to  turn  him 
into  a  movie  doll!  Try  to  get  it  through  your  skull, 
Abey!" 

The  great  man's  eyes  were  wide  open.  "Holy  smoke, 
Mary!  Vot's  got  into  you?"  And  suddenly  he  almost 
shrieked.  "Lord!  She's  cryin'  too!" 

"No,  I'm  not,"  declared  Mary,  vialiantly.  But  there 
were  two  drops  on  her  cheeks,  so  big  that  she  was  forced 
to  wipe  them  away.  "It's  just  a  little  shame,  that's  all. 
Here  we  sit,  with  three  times  as  much  food  before  us 
as  we  can  eat ;  and  all  over  this  city  are  poor  devils  with 
nothing  to  eat,  and  no  homes  to  go  to — don't  you  know 
that's  true,  Abey?  Don't  you  know  it,  Maw?" 

"Looka  here,  kid,"  said  the  magnate ;  "you  know  vot'll 
happen  to  you  if  you  git  to  broodin*  over  tings?  You 
git  your  face  full  o'  wrinkles — you  already  gone  and 
spoilt  your  make-up." 

"Shucks,  Abey,"  broke  in  Maw,  "vot  you  gotta  do  vit 
dat?  Vy  don't  you  mind  your  own  business?" 

"Mind  my  own  business?    My  own  business,  you  say? 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  53 

Veil,  I  like  to  know  vot  you  call  my  business !  Ven  I 
got  a  contract  to  pay  a  girl  tirty-five  hunded  dollars  a 
veek  fer  her  face,  and  she  goes  and  gits  it  all  wrinkles, 
I  ask  any  jury,  is  it  my  business  or  ain't  it?  And  if  a 
feller  vants  to  pull  de  tremulo  stop  fer  a  lot  o'  hoboes 
and  Bullsheviki,  and  goes  and  spills  his  tears  into  his 
soup — " 

It  sounded  fierce;  but  Mary  apparently  knew  her 
Abey;  also,  she  saw  that  Maw  was  starting  to  cry. 
"There's  no  use  trying  to  bluff  me,  Abey.  You  know  as 
well  as  I  do  there  are  hungry  people  in  this  city,  and 
no  fault  of  theirs.  You  know,  too,  you  eat  twice  what 
you  ought  to,  because  I've  heard  the  doctor  tell  you. 
I'm  not  blaming  you  a  bit  more  than  I  do  myself — me, 
with  two  automobiles,  and  a  whole  show-window  on  my 
back."  And  suddenly  she  turned  to  Carpenter.  "What 
can  we  do?" 

He  answered:  "Here,  men  gorge  themselves;  in  Rus- 
sia they  are  eating  their  dead." 

T-S  dropped  his  knife  and  fork,  and  Maw  gave  a  gulp. 
"Oh,  my  Gawd!" 

"There  are  ten  million  people  doomed  to  starve.  Their 
children  eat  grass,  and  their  bellies  swell  up  and  their 
legs  dwindle  to  broom-sticks;  they  stagger  and  fall  into 
the  ditches,  and  other  children  tear  their  flesh  and  devour 
it." 

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-oh !"  wailed  Maw;  and  the  diners  at 
Prince's  began  to  stare. 

"Now  looka  here !"  cried  T-S,  wildly.  "I  say  dis  ain't 
no  decent  way  to  behave  at  a  party.  I  say  it  ain't  on  de 
level  to  be  a  feller's  guest,  and  den  jump  on  him  and  spoil 
his  dinner.  See  here,  Mr.  Carpenter,  I  tell  you  vot  I  do. 
You  be  good  and  eat  your  grub,  so  it  don't  git  vasted, 


54  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

and  I  promise  you,  tomorrow  I  go  and  hunt  up  strike 
headquarters,  and  give  dem  a  check  fer  a  tousand  dol- 
lars, and  if  de  damn  graftin'  leaders  don't  hog  it,  dey  all 
git  someting  to  eat.  And  vot's  more,  I  send  a  check  fer 
five  tousand  to  de  Russian  relief.  Now  ain't  dat  square? 
Vot  you  say?" 

"What  I  say  is,  Mr.  T-S,  I  cannot  be  the  keeper  of 
another  man's  conscience.  But  I'll  try  to  eat,  so  as  not 
to  be  rude." 

And  T-S  grunted,  and  went  back  to  his  feeding;  and 
the  stranger  made  a  pretense  of  eating,  and  we  did  the 
same. 


XVII 

It  happens  that  I  was  brought  up  in  a  highly  con- 
scientious family.  To  my  dear  mother,  and  to  her 
worthy  sisters,  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  more  pain- 
ful than  what  they  call  a  "scene" — unless  possibly  it  is 
what  they  call  a  "situation."  And  here  we  had  certainly 
had  a  "scene,"  and  still  had  a  "situation."  So  I  sat, 
racking  my  brains  to  think  of  something  safe  to  talk 
about.  I  recalled  that  T-S  had  had  pretty  good  success 
with  his  "Tale  of  Two  Cities"  as  a  topic  of  [conversation, 
so  I  began: 

"Mr.  Carpenter,  the  spectacle  you  are  going  to  see 
this  evening  is  rather  remarkable  from  the  artistic  point 
of  view.  One  of  the  greatest  scenic  artists  of  Paris  has 
designed  the  set,  and  the  best  judges  consider  it  a  real 
achievement,  a  landmark  in  moving  picture  work." 

"Tell  me  about  it,"  said  Carpenter;  and  I  was  grate- 
ful for  his  tone  of  interest. 

"Well,  I  don't  know  how  much  you  know  about  pic- 
ture making — " 

"You  had  better  explain  everything." 

"Well,  Mr.  T-S  has  built  a  large  set,  representing  a 
street  scene  in  Paris  over  a  century  ago.  He  has  hired  a 
thousand  men — " 

"Two  tousand !"  broke  in  T-S. 

"In  the  advertisements?"  I  suggested,  with  a  smile. 

"No,  no,"  insisted  the  other.  "Two  tousand,  really. 
In  de  advertisements,  five  tousand." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "these  men  wear  costumes  which  T-S 
has  had  made  for  them,  and  they  pretend  to  be  a  mob. 

55 


56  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

They  have  been  practicing  all  day,  and  by  now  they 
know  what  to  do.  There  is  a  man  with  a  megaphone, 
shouting  orders  to  them,  and  enormous  lights  playing 
upon  them,  so  that  men  with  Cameras  can  take  pictures 
of  the  scene.  It  is  very  vivid,  and  as  a  portrayal  of  his- 
tory, is  truly  educational." 

"And  when  it  is  done — what  becomes  of  the  men?" 

Utterly  hopeless,  you  see !  We  were  right  back  on  the 
forbidden  ground!  "How  do  you  mean?"  I  evaded. 

"I  mean,  how  do  they  live?" 

"Dey  got  deir  five  dollars,  ain't  dey?"  It  was  T-S, 
of  course. 

"Yes,  but  that  won*  last  very  long,  will  it?  What  is 
the  cost  of  this  dinner  we  are  eating?" 

The  magnate  of  the  movies  looked  to  the  speaker,  and 
then  burst  into  a  laugh.  "Ho,  ho,  ho !  Dat's  a  good  vun !" 

Said  I,  hastily :  "Mr.  T-S  means  that  there  are  cheaper 
eating  places  to  be  found." 

"Well,"  said  Carpenter,  "why  don't  we  find  one?" 

"It's  no  use,  Billy.  He  thinks  it's  up  to  me  to  feed  all 
de  bums  on  de  lot.  Is  dat  it,  Mr.  Carpenter?" 

"I  can't  say,  Mr.  T-S ;  I  don't  know  how  many  there  are, 
and  I  don't  know  how  rich  you  are  ." 

"Veil,  dey  got  five  million  out  o'  verks  in  this  country 
now,  and  if  I  vanted  to  bust  myself,  I  could  feed  'em 
vun  day,  maybe  two.  But  ven  I  got  done,  dey  vouldn't 
be  nobody  to  make  pictures,  and  somebody  vould  have 
to  feed  old  Abey— or  maybe  me  and  Maw  could  go  back 
to  carryin'  pants  in  a  push  cart !  If  you  tink  I  vouldn't 
like  to  see  all  de  hungry  fed,  you  got  me  wrong,  Mr.  Car- 
penter; but  vot  I  learned  is  dis — if  you  stop  fer  all  de 
misery  you  see  in  de  vorld  about  you,  you  vouldn't  git 
novhere.  " 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  57 

"Well,"  said  Carpenter,  "what  difference  would  that 
maker 

The  proprietor  of  Eternal  City  really  wanted  to  make 
out  the  processes  of  this  abnormal  mind.  He  wrinkled 
his  brows,  and  thought  very  hard  over  it. 

"See  here,  Mr.  Carpenter,"  he  began  at  last,  "I  tink 
you  got  hold  o'  de  wrong  feller.  I'm  a  verkin'  man,  de 
same  as  any  mechanic  on  my  lot.  I  verked  ever  since 
I  vas  a  liddle  boy,  and  if  I  eat  too  much  now,  maybe  it's 
because  I  didn't  get  enough  ven  I  vas  liddle.  And  maybe 
I  got  more  money  dan  vot  I  got  a  right  to,  but  I  know 
dis — I  ain't  never  had  enough  to  do  half  vot  I  vant  to! 
But  dere's  plenty  fellers  got  ten  times  vot  I  got,  and 
never  done  a  stroke  o'  vork  fer  it.  Dey're  de  vuns 
y'oughter  git  after!" 

Said  Carpenter:    "I  would,  if  I  knew  how." 

"Dey's  plenty  of  'em  right  in  dis  room,  I  bet."  And 
Mary  added:  "Ask  Billy;  he  knows  them  all!" 

"You  flatter  me,  Mary,"  I  laughed. 

"Ain't  dey  some  of  'em  here?7'  demanded  T-S. 

"Yes,  that's  true.  There  are  some  not  far  away,  who 
are  developing  a  desire  to  meet  Mr.  Carpenter,  unless  I 
miss  the  signs." 

"Vere  are  dey  at?"  demanded  T-S. 

"I  won't  tell  you  that,"  I  laughed,  "because  you'd  turn 
and  stare  into  their  faces." 

"So  he  vould!"  broke  in  Maw.  "How  often  I  gotta 
tell  you,  Abey?  You  got  no  more  manners  dan  if  you 
vas  a  jimpanzy." 

"All  right,"  said  the  magnate,  grinning  good  natur- 
edly.  "I'll  keep  a-eatin'  my  dinner.  Who  is  it?" 

"It's  Mrs.  Parmelee  Stebbins,"  said  I.  "She  boasts  a 
salon,  and  has  to  have  what  are  called  lions,  and  she's 


58  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

been  watching  Mr.  Carpenter  out  of  the  corner  of  her 
eye  ever  since  he  came  into  the  room — trying  to  figure 
out  whether  he's  a  lion,  or  only  an  actor.  If  his  skin 
were  a  bit  dark,  she  would  be  sure  he  was  an  Eastern 
potentate;  as  it,  she's  afraid  he's  of  domestic  origin,  in 
which  case  he's  vulgar.  The  company  he  keeps  is 
against  him;  but  still — Mrs.  Stebbins  has  had  my  eye 
three  times,  hoping  I  would  give  her  a  signal.  I  haven't 
given  it,  so  she's  about  to  leave." 

"Veil,  she  can  go  to  hell !"  said  T-S,  keeping  his  prom- 
ise to  devote  himself  to  his  dinner.  "I  offered  Parmelee 
Stebbins  a  tird  share  in  T)e  Pride  o'  Passion*  fer  a 
hunded  tousand  dollars,  and  de  damn  fool  turned  me 
down,  and  de  picture  has  made  a  million  and  a  quarter 
a'ready." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "he's  probably  paying  for  it  by  sitting 
up  late  to  buy  the  city  council  on  this  new  franchise 
grab  of  his;  and  so  he  hasn't  kept  his  date  to  dine  with 
his  expensive  family  at  Prince's.  Here  is  Miss  Lucinda 
Stebbins;  she's  engaged  to  Babcock,  millionaire  sport 
and  man  about  town,  but  he's  taking  part  in  a  flying  race 
over  the  Rocky  Mountains  tonight,  and  so  Lucinda  feels 
bored,  and  she  knows  the  vaudeville  show  is  going  to  be 
tiresome,  but  still  she  doesn't  want  to  meet  any  freaks. 
She  has  just  said  to  her  mother  that  she  can't  see  why 
a  person  in  her  mother's  position  can't  be  content  to 
meet  proper  people,  but  always  has  to  be  getting  herself 
into  the  newspapers  with  some  new  sort  of  nut." 

"My  Gawd,  Billy!"  cried  Maw.  "You  got  a  dicta- 
phone on  dem  people?" 

"No,  but  I  know  the  type  so  well,  I  can  tell  by  their 
looks.  Lucinda  is  thinking  about  their  big  new  palace 
on  Grand  Avenue,  and  she  regards  everyone  outside  her 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  59 

set  as  a  burglar  trying  to  break  in.  And  then  there's 
Bertie  Stebbins,  who's  thinking  about  a  new  style  of 
collar  he  saw  advertised  to-day,  and  how  it  would  look 
on  him,  and  what  impression  it  would  make  on  his  new- 
est girl." 

It  was  Mary  who  spoke  now:  "I  know  that  little 
toad.  I've  seen  him  dancing  at  the  Palace  with  Doro- 
thy Doodles,  or  whatever  her  name  is." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "Mrs.  Stebbins  runs  the  newer  set— 
those  who  hunt  sensations,  and  make  a  splurge  in  the 
papers.  It  costs  like  smoke,  of  course — "  And  sud- 
denly I  stopped.  "Look  out!"  I  whispered.  "Here  she 
comes !" 


XVIII 

I  heard  Maw  catch  her  breath,  and  I  heard  Maw's  hus- 
band give  a  grunt.  Then  I  rose.  "How  are  you,  Billy?" 
gurgled  a  voice — one  of  those  voices  made  especially  for 
social  occasions.  "Wretched  boy,  why  do  you  never 
come  to  see  us?" 

"I  was  coming  to-morrow,"  I  said — for  who  could 
prove  otherwise?  "Mrs.  Stebbins,  permit  me  to  intro- 
duce Mrs.  Tszchniczklefritszch." 

"Charmed  to  meet  you,  I'm  sure,"  said  Mrs.  Stebbins. 
"I've  heard  my  husband  speak  of  your  husband  so  often. 
How  well  you  are  looking,  Mrs. — " 

She  stopped;  and  Maw,  knowing  the  terrors  of  her 
name,  made  haste  to  say  something  agreeable.  "Yes, 
ma'am;  dis  country  agrees  vit  me  fine.  Since  I  come 
here,  I've  rode  and  et,  shoost  rode  and  et." 

"And  Mr.  T-S,"  said  I. 

"Howdydo,  Mr.  T-S?" 

"Pretty  good,  ma'am,"  said  T-S.  He  had  been  caught 
with  his  mouth  full,  and  was  making  desperate  efforts 
to  swallow. 

A  singular  thing  is  the  power  of  class  prestige !  Here 
was  Maw,  a  good  woman,  according  to  her  lights,  who 
had  worked  hard  all  her  life,  and  had  achieved  a  colos- 
sal and  astounding  success.  She  had  everything  in  the 
world  that  money  could  buy ;  her  hair  was  done  by  the 
best  hair-dresser,  her  gown  had  been  designed  by 
the  best  costumer,  her  rings  and  bracelets  selected  by  the 
best  jeweller;  and  yet  nothing  was  right,  no  power  on 
earth  could  make  it  right,  and  Maw  knew  it,  and  writhed 

60 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  61 

in  the  consciousness  of  it.  And  here  was  Mrs.  Parmelee 
Stebbins,  who  had  never  done  a  useful  thing  in  all  her 
days — except  you  count  the  picking  out  of  a  rich  hus- 
band; yet  Mrs.  Stebbins  was  "right,"  and  Maw  knew 
it,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  other  woman  she  was  in 
an  utter  panic,  literally  quivering  in  every  nerve.  And 
here  was  old  T-S,  who,  left  to  himself,  might  have  really 
meant  what  he  said,  that  Mrs.  Stebbins  could  go  to  hell ; 
but  because  he  was  married,  and  loved  his  wife,  he  too 
trembled,  and  gulped  down  his  food! 

Mrs.  Stebbins  is  one  of  those  American  matrons  who 
do  not  allow  marriage  and  motherhood  to  make  vulgar 
physical  impressions  upon  them.  Her  pale  blue  gown 
might  have  been  worn  by  her  daughter;  her  cool  grey 
eyes  looked  out  through  a  face  without  a  wrinkle  from 
a  soul  without  a  care.  She  was  a  patroness  of  art  and 
intellect ;  but  never  did  she  forget  her  fundamental  duty, 
the  enhancing  of  the  prestige  of  a  family  name.  When 
she  was  introduced  to  a  screen-actress,  she  was  gracious, 
but  did  not  forget  the  difference  between  an  actress  and 
a  lady.  When  she  was  introduced  to  a  strange  man  who 
did  not  wear  trousers,  she  took  it  quite  as  an  everyday 
matter,  revealing  no  trace  of  vulgar  human  curiosity. 

There  came  Bertie,  full  grown,  but  not  yet  out  of  the 
pimply  stage,  and  still  conscious  of  the  clothes  which  he 
had  taken  such  pains  to  get  right.  Bertie's  sister  re- 
mained in  her  seat,  refusing  naughtily  to  be  compro- 
mised by  her  mother's  vagaries;  but  Bertie  had  a  pur- 
pose, and  after  I  had  introduced  him  round,  I  saw  what 
he  wanted — Mary  Magna!  Bertie  had  a  vision  of  him- 
self as  a  sort  of  sporting  prince  in  this  movie  world.  His 
social  position  would  make  'conquests  easy ;  it  was  a  sort 
of  Christmas-tree,  all  a-glitter  with  prizes. 


62  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

I  was  standing  near,  and  heard  the  beginning  of  their 
conversation.  "Oh,  Miss  Magna,  I'm  so  pleased  to  meet 
you.  I've  heard  so  much  about  you  from  Miss  Dulles." 

"Miss  Dulles?" 

"Yes;  Dorothy  Dulles." 

"I'm  sorry.     I  don't  think  I  ever  heard  of  her." 

"What?    Dorothy  Dulles,  the  screen  actress?" 

"No,  I  can't  place  her.'' 

"But— but  she's  a  star !" 

"Well,  but  you  know,  Mr.  Stebbins — there  are  so  many 
stars  in  the  heavens,  and  not  all  of  them  visible  to  the 
eye." 

I  turned  to  Bertie's  mamma.  She  had  discovered  that 
Carpenter  looked  even  more  thrilling  on  a  close  view : 
he  was  not  a  stage  figure,  but  a  really  grave  and  im- 
pressive personality,  exactly  the  thing  to  thrill  the  ladies 
of  the  Higher  Arts  Club  at  their  monthly  luncheon,  and 
to  reflect  prestige  upon  his  discoverer.  So  here  she  was, 
inviting  the  party  to  share  her  box  at  the  theatre;  and 
here  was  T-S  explaining  that  it  couldn't  be  done,  he 
had  got  to  see  his  French  revolution  pictures  took,  dey 
had  five  tousand  men  hired  to  make  a  mob.  I  noted 
that  Mrs.  Stebbins  received  the  "advertising"  figures  on 
the  production! 

The  upshot  of  it  was  that  the  great  lady  consented  to 
forget  her  box  at  the  theatre,  and  run  out  to  the  studios 
to  see  the  mob  scenes  for  the  "The  Tale  of  Two  Cities." 
T-S  hadn't  quite  finished  his  dinner,  but  he  waved  his 
hand  and  said  it  was  nuttin',  he  vouldn't  keep  Mrs.  Steb- 
bins vaitin'.  He  beckoned  the  waiter,  and  signed  his 
magic  name  on  the  check,  with  a  five-dollar  bill  on  top 
for  a  tip.  Mrs.  Stebbins  collected  her  family  and  floated 
to  the  door,  and  our  party  followed. 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  63 

I  expected  another  scene  with  the  mob;  but  I  found 
that  the  street  had  been  swept  clear  of  everything  but 
policemen  and  chauffeurs.  I  knew  that  this  must  have 
meant  rough  work  on  the  part  of  the  authorities,  but  I 
said  nothing,  and  hoped  that  Carpenter  would  not  think 
of  it.  The  Stebbins  car  drew  up  by  the  porte-cochere; 
and  suddenly  I  discovered  why  the  wife  of  the  street-car 
magnate  was  known  as  a  "social  leader."  "Billy,"  she 
said,  "you  come  in  our  car,  and  bring  Mr.  Carpenter;  I 
have  something  to  talk  to  you  about."  Just  that  easily, 
you  see !  She  wanted  something,  so  she  asked  for  it ! 

I  took  Carpenter  by  the  arm  and  put  him  in.  Bertie 
drove,  the  chauffeur  sitting  in  the  seat  beside  him. 
"Beat  you  to  it!"  called  Bertie,  with  his  invincible  ar- 
rogance, and  waved  his  hand  to  the  picture  magnate  as 
we  rolled  away. 


XIX 

As  it  happened,  we  made  a  poor  start.  Turning  the 
corner  into  Broadway,  we  found  ourselves  caught  in  the 
jam  of  the  theatre  traffic,  and  our  car  was  brought  to  a 
halt  in  front  of  the  "Empire  Varieties."  If  you  have 
been  on  any  Broadway  between  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific 
oceans,  you  fcan  imagine  the  sight;  the  flaring  electric 
signs,  the  pictures  of  the  head  line  artists,  the  people 
waiting  to  buy  tickets,  and  the  crowds  on  the  sidewalk 
pushing  past.  There  was  one  additional  feature,  a  crowd 
of  "rah-rah  boys,"  with  yellow  and  purple  flags  in  their 
hands,  and  the  glory  of  battle  in  their  eyes.  As  our  car 
halted,  the  cheer-leader  gave  a  signal,  and  a  hundred 
throats  let  out  in  unison : 

"Rickety  zim,  rickety  zam, 

Brickety,  stickety,  slickety  slam! 

Wallybaloo !     Billybazoo ! 

We  are  the  boys  for  a  hullabaloo — Western  City !" 

It  sounded  all  the  more  deafening,  because  Bertie,  in 
the  front  seat,  had  joined  in. 

"Hello !"  said  I.     "We  must  have  won  the  ball-game !" 

"You  bet  we  did !"  said  Bertie,  in  his  voice  of  bursting 
self-importance. 

"Ball-game?"  asked  Carpenter. 

'Toot-ball/'  said  I.  "Western  City  played  Union  Tech 
today.  Wonder  what  the  score  was." 

The  cheer  leader  seemed  to  take  the  words  out  of  my 
mouth.  Again  the  hundred  voices  roared: 

"What  was  the  score? 

Seventeen  to  four ! 

64 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  & 

Who  got  it  in  the  neck? 

Union  Tech ! 

Who  took  the  kitty? 

Western  City !" 

Then  more  waving  of  flags,  and  yells  for  our  prize 
captain  and  our  agile  quarter-back:  "Rah,  rah,  rah, 
Jerry  Wilson!  Rah,  rah,  rah,  Harriman!  Western 
City,  Western  City,  Western  City!  W-E-S-T-E-R-N- 
C-I-T-Y!  Western  City!" 

You  have  heard  college  yells,  no  doubt,  and  can  ima- 
gine the  tempo  of  these  cries,  the  cumulative  rush  of  the 
spelled  out  letters,  the  booming  roar  at  the  end.  The 
voice  of  Bertie  beat  back  from  the  wind-shield  with  de- 
vastating effect  upon  our  ears;  and  then  our  car  rolled 
on,  and  the  clamor  died  away,  and  I  answered  the  ques- 
tions of  Carpenter.  "They  are  'college  boys.  They  have 
won  a  game  with  another  college,  and  are  celebrating  the 
victory." 

"But,"  said  the  other,  "how  do  they  manage  to  shout 
all  together  that  way?" 

"Oh,  they've  practiced  that,  of  course." 

"You  mean — they  gather  and  practice  making  those 
noises  ?" 

"Surely." 

"They  make  them  in  cold  blood?" 

I  laughed.  "Well,  the  blood  of  youth  is  seldom  en- 
tirely cold.  They  imagine  the  victory  while  they  re- 
hearse, no  doubt." 

When  Carpenter  spoke  again,  it  was  half  to  himself. 
"You  make  your  children  into  mobs!  You  train  them 
for  it!" 

"It  really  isn't  that  bad,"  I  replied.  "It's  all  in  good 
temper — it's  their  play." 


66  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

"Yes,  yes!  But  what  is  play  but  practice  for  reality? 
And  how  shall  love  be  learned  in  savage  war-dances  ?" 

They  tell  us  that  we  have  a  new  generation  of  young 
people  since  the  war;  a  generation  which  thinks  for  it- 
self, and  has  its  own  way.  I  was  an  advocate  of  this 
idea  in  the  abstract,  but  I  must  admit  that  I  was  startled 
by  the  concrete  case  which  I  now  encountered.  Bertie 
suddenly  looked  round  from  his  place  in  the  driver's 
seat.  "Say,"  he  demanded,  in  a  grating  voice,  "where 
was  that  guy  raised?" 

"Bertie  dear!"  cried  his  mother.     "Don't  be  rude!" 

"I'm  not  being  rude,"  replied  the  other.  "I  just  want 
to  know  where  he  got  his  nut  ideas." 

"Bertie  dear!"  cried  the  mother,  again;  and  you  knew 
that  for  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  she  had  been  crying 
"Bertie  dear!" — in  a  tone  in  which  rebuke  was  tempered 
by  fatuous  maternal  admiration.  And  all  the  time,  Ber- 
tie had  gone  on  doing  what  he  pleased,  knowing  that  in 
her  secret  heart  his  mother  was  smiling  with  admiration 
of  his  masterfulness,  taking  it  as  one  more  symptom  of 
the  greatness  of  the  Stebbins  line.  I  could  see  him  in 
early  childhood,  stamping  on  the  floor  and  commanding 
his  governess  to  bring  him  a  handkerchief — and  throw- 
ing his  shoe  at  her  when  she  delayed ! 

Presently  it  was  Luanda's  turn.  Lucinda,  you  under- 
stand, was  in  revolt  against  the  social  indignity  which 
her  mother  had  inflicted  upon  her.  When  Carpenter  had 
entered  the  car,  she  had  looked  at  him  once,  with  a  de- 
liberate stare,  then  lifted  her  chin,  ignoring  my  effort  to 
introduce  him  to  her.  Since  then  she  had  sat  silent, 
cold,  and  proud.  But  now  she  spoke.  "Mother,  tell  me, 
do  we  have  to  meet  those  horrid  fat  old  Jews  again?" 

Mrs.  Stebbins  wisely  decided  that  this  was  not  a  good 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  67 

time  to  explore  the  soul  of  a  possible  Eastern  potentate. 
Instead,  she  elected  to  talk  for  a  minute  or  two  about  a 
lawn  fete  she  was  planning  to  give  next  week  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Polish  relief.  "Poland  is  the  World's  Bul- 
wark against  Bolshevism,"  she  explained;  and  then 
added:  "Bertie  dear,  aren't  you  driving  recklessly?" 

Bertie  turned  his  head.     "Didn't  you  hear  me  tell  that 
old  sheeny  I  was  going  to  beat  him  to  it?" 
"But,  Bertie  dear,  this  street  is  crowded!" 
"Well,  let  them  look  out  for  themselves  1" 
But  a  few  seconds  later  it  appeared  as  if  the  son  and 
heir  of  the   Stebbins   family   had   decided   to   take   his 
mother's  advice.    The  car  suddenly  slowed  up — so  sud- 
denly as  to  slide  us  out  of  our  seats.    There  was  a  grind- 
ing of  brakes,   and   a  bump   of   something   under   the 
wheels;  then  a  wild  scream  from  the  sidewalk,  and  a 
half-stifled    cry    from    the    chauffeur.      Mrs.    Stebbins 
gasped,  "Oh,  my  God!"  and  put  her  hands  over  her 
face;    and    Lucinda    exclaimed,    in    outraged    irritation, 
"Mamma !"  Carpenter  looked  at  me,  puzzled,  and  asked, 
"What  is  the  matter?" 


XX 

The  accident  had  happened  in  an  ill-chosen  neighbor- 
hood: one  of  those  crowded  slum  quarters,  swarming 
with  Mexicans  and  Italians  and  other  foreigners.  Of 
course,  that  was  the  only  neighborhood  in  which  it  could 
have  happened,  because  it  is  only  there  that  children  run 
wild  in  the  streets  at  night.  There  was  one  child  under 
the  front  wheels,  crushed  almost  in  half,  so  that  you 
could  not  bear  to  look  at  it,  to  say  nothing  of  touching 
it;  and  there  was  another,  struck  by  the  fender  and 
knocked  into  the  gutter.  There  was  an  old  hag  of  a 
woman  standing  by,  with  her  hands  lifted  into  the  air, 
shrieking  in  such  a  voice  of  mingled  terror  and  fury  as 
I  had  never  heard  in  my  life  before.  It  roused  the  whole 
quarter ;  there  were  people  running  out  of  twenty  houses, 
I  think,  before  one  of  us  could  get  out  of  the  car. 

The  first  person  out  was  Carpenter.  He  took  one 
glance  at  the  form  under  the  <car,  and  saw  there  was  no 
hope  there;  then  he  ran  to  the  child  in  the  gutter  and 
caught  it  into  his  arms.  The  poor  people  who  rushed 
to  the  scene  found  him  sitting  on  the  curb,  gazing  into 
the  pitiful,  quivering  little  face,  and  whispering  grief- 
stricken  words.  There  was  a  street-lamp  near,  so  he 
could  see  the  face  of  the  child,  and  the  crowd  could  see 
him. 

There  came  a  woman,  apparently  the  mother  of  the 
dead  child.  She  saw  the  form  under  the  car,  and  gave  a 
horrified  scream,  and  fell  into  a  faint.  There  came  a 
man,  the  father,  no  doubt,  and  other  relatives ;  there  was 
a  clamoring,  frantic  throng,  swarming  about  the  car  and 

68 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  69 

about  the  victims.  I  went  to  Carpenter,  and  asked,  "Is 
it  dead?"  He  answered,  "It  will  live,  I  think."  Then, 
seeing  that  the  crowd  was  likely  to  stifle  the  little  one, 
he  rose.  "Where  does  this  child  live?"  he  asked,  and 
some  one  pointed  out  the  house,  and  he  carried  his  bur- 
den into  it.  I  followed  him,  and  it  was  fortunate  that 
I  did  so,  because  of  the  part  I  was  able  to  play. 

I  saw  him  lay  the  child  upon  a  couch,  and  put  his  hands 
upon  its  forehead,  and  close  his  eyes,  apparently  in 
prayer.  Then,  noting  the  clamor  outside  growing  louder, 
I  went  to  the  door  and  looked  out,  and  found  the  Steb- 
bins  family  in  a  frightful  predicament.  The  mob  had 
dragged  Bertie  and  the  chauffeur  outside  the  car,  and 
were  yelling  menaces  and  imprecations  into  their  faces; 
poor  Bertie  was  shouting  back,  that  it  wasn't  his  fault, 
how  could  he  help  it?  But  they  thought  he  might 
have  helped  coming  into  their  quarter  with  his  big  rich 
[car ;  why  couldn't  he  stay  in  his  own  part  of  the  city, 
and  kill  the  children  of  the  rich?  A  man  hit  him  a  blow 
in  the  face  and  knocked  him  over;  his  mother  shrieked, 
and  leaped  out  to  help  him,  and  half  a  dozen  women 
flung  themselves  at  her,  and  as  many  men  at  the  chauf- 
feur. There  was  a  pile  of  bricks  lying  handy,  and  no 
doubt  also  knives  in  the  pockets  of  these  foreign  men; 
I  believe  the  little  party  would  have  been  torn  to  pieces, 
had  it  not  occurred  to  me  to  run  into  the  house  and 
summon  Carpenter. 

Why  did  I  do  it?  I  think  because  I  had  seen  how  the 
crowd  gave  way  before  him  with  the  child  in  his  arms. 
Anyhow,  I  knew  that  I  could  do  nothing  alone,  and 
before  I  could  find  a  policeman  it  might  be  many  times 
too  late.  I  told  Carpenter  what  was  happening,  and  he 
rose,  and  ran  out  to  the  street. 


70  THEY  CALL  ME  CAKPENTEE 

It  was  like  magic,  of  Bourse.  To  these  poor  foreigners, 
Catholics  most  of  them,  he  did  not  suggest  a  moving  pic- 
ture actor  on  location;  he  suggested  something  serious 
and  miraculous.  He  called  to  the  crowd,  stretching  out 
his  arms,  and  they  gave  way  before  him,  and  he  walked 
into  them,  and  when  he  got  to  the  struggling  group  he 
held  his  arms  over  them,  and  that  was  all  there  was 
to  it. 

Except,  of  course,  that  he  made  them  a  speech.  See- 
ing that  he  was  saving  Bertie  Stebbins*  life,  it  was  no 
more  than  fair  that  he  should  have  his  own  way,  and 
that  a  member  of  the  younger  generation  should  listen 
in  unprotesting  silence  to  a  discourse,  the  political  and 
sociological  implications  of  which  must  have  been  very 
offensive  to  him.  And  Bertie  listened;  I  think  he  would 
not  have  made  a  sound,  even  if  he  could  have,  after  the 
crack  in  the  face  he  had  got, 

"My  people/'  said  Carpenter,  "what  good  would  it  do 
you  to  kill  these  wretches?  The  blood-suckers  who 
drain  the  life  of  the  poor  are  not  to  be  killed  by  blows. 
There  are  too  many  of  them,  and  more  of  them  grow  in 
place  of  those  who  die.  And  what  is  worse,  if  you  kill 
them,  you  destroy  in  yourselves  that  which  makes  you 
better  than  they,  which  gives  you  the  right  to  life.  You 
destroy  those  virtues  of  patience  and  charity,  which  are 
the  jewels  of  the  poor,  and  make  them  princes  in  the 
kingdom  of  love.  Let  us  guard  our  crown  of  pity,  and 
not  acquire  the  vifces  of  our  oppressors.  Let  us  grow  in 
wisdom,  and  find  ways  to  put  an  end  to  the  world's  en- 
slavement, without  the  degradation  of  our  own  hearts. 
For  so  many  ages  we  have  been  patient,  let  us  wait  but 
a  little  longer,  and  find  the  true  way!  Oh,  my  people, 
my  beloved  poor,  not  in  violence,  but  in  solidarity,  in 


THEY  CALL  ME  CAEPENTEE  71 

brotherhood,  lies  the  way!  Let  us  bid  the  rich  go  on, 
to  the  sure  damnation  which  awaits  them.  Let  us  not 
soil  our  hands  with  their  blood!" 

He  spread  out  his  arras  again,  majestically.  "Stand 
back!  Make  way  for  them!" 

Not  all  the  crowd  understood  the  words,  but  enough 
of  them  did,  and  set  the  example.  In  dead  silence  they 
withdrew  from  the  sides  and  front  of  the  car.  The  body 
of  the  dead  child  had  been  dragged  out  of  the  way  and 
laid  on  the  sidewalk,  covered  by  a  coat;  and  so  Car- 
penter said  to  the  Stebbins  family:  "The  road  is  clear 
before  you.  Step  in."  Half  dazed,  the  four  people 
obeyed,  and  again  Carpenter  raised  his  voice.  "Drinkers 
of  human  blood,  devourers  of  human  bodies,  go  your 
way!  Go  forward  to  that  doom  which  history  prepares 
for  parasites!" 

The  engine  began  to  purr,  and  the  car  began  to  move. 
There  was  a  low  mutter  from  the  Crowd,  a  moan  of  fury 
and  baffled  desire;  but  not  a  hand  was  lifted,  and  the 
car  shot  away,  and  disappeared  down  the  street,  leaving 
Carpenter  standing  on  the  curb,  making  a  Socialist 
speech  to  a  mob  of  greasers  and  dagoes. 


XXI 

When  he  stopped  speaking,  it  was  because  a  woman 
pressed  her  way  through  the  crowd,  and  caught  one  of 
his  hands.  "Master,  my  baby !"  she  sobbed.  "The  little 
one  that  was  hurt!"  So  Carpenter  said  to  the  crowd, 
"The  sick  child  needs  me.  I  must  go  in."  They  started 
to  press  after  him,  and  he  added,  "You  must  not  come 
into  the  room.  The  child  will  need  air."  He  went 
inside,  and  knelt  once  more  by  the  couch,  and  put  his 
hand  on  the  little  one's  forehead.  The  mother,  a  frail, 
dark  Mexican  woman,  crouched  at  the  foot,  not  daring 
to  touch  either  the  man  or  the  child,  but  staring  from 
one  to  the  other,  pressing  her  hands  together  in  an  agony 
of  dread. 

The  little  one  opened  his  eyes,  and  gazed  up.  Evi- 
dently he  liked  what  he  saw,  for  he  kept  on  gazing,  and 
a  smile  spread  over  his  features,  a  wistful  and  tender 
and  infinitely  sad  little  smile,  of  a  child  who  perhaps 
never  had  a  good  meal  in  his  lifetime.  "Nice  man!"  he 
whispered;  and  the  woman,  hearing  his  voice  again, 
began  sobbing  wildly,  and  caught  Carpenter's  free  hand 
and  covered  it  with  her  tears.  "It  is  all  right,"  said  he ; 
"all  right,  all  right !  He  will  get  well — do  not  be  afraid." 
He  smiled  back  at  the  child,  saying:  "It  is  better  now; 
you  will  not  have  so  much  pain."  To  me  he  remarked, 
"What  is  there  so  lovely  as  a  child?" 

The  people  thronging  the  doorway  spread  word  what 
was  going  on,  and  there  were  shouts  of  excitement,  and 
presently  the  voice  of  a  woman,  clamoring  for  admis- 
sion. The  throng  made  way,  and  she  brought  a  bundle 

72 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  73 

in  her  arms,  which  being  unfolded  proved  to  contain  a 
sick  baby.  I  neve*  knew  what  was  the  matter  with  it; 
I  don't  suppose  the  mother  knew,  nor  did  Carpenter 
seem  to  care.  The  woman  knelt  at  his  feet,  praying  to 
him;  but  he  bade  her  stand  up,  and  took  the  child  from 
her,  and  looked  into  its  face,  and  then  closed  his  eyes  in 
prayer.  When  he  handed  back  the  burden,  a  few  min- 
utes later,  she  gazed  at  it.  Something  had  happened,  or 
at  least  she  thought  it  had  happened,  for  she  gave  a  cry 
of  joy,  and  fell  at  Carpenter's  feet  again,  and  caught  the 
hem  of  his  garment  with  one  hand  and  began  to  kiss  it. 
The  rumor  spread  outside,  and  there  were  more  people 
clamoring.  Before  long,  filtering  into  the  room,  came 
the  lame,  and  the  halt,  and  the  blind. 

I  had  been  reading  not  long  ago  of  the  miracles  of 
Lourdes,  so  I  knew  in  a  general  way  what  to  expect. 
I  know  that  modern  science  vindicates  these  things, 
demonstrating  that  any  powerful  stimulus  given  to  the 
unconscious  can  awaken  new  vital  impulses,  and  heal  not 
merely  the  hysterical  and  neurotic,  but  sometimes  actual 
physical  ailments.  Of  course,  to  these  ignorant  Mex- 
icans and  Italians,  there  was  no  possible  excitement  so 
great  as  that  caused  by  Carpenter's  appearance  and  be- 
havior. I  understood  the  thing  clearly;  and  yet,  some- 
how, I  (could  not  watch  it  without  being  startled — thrilled 
in  a  strange,  uncomfortable  way. 

And  later  on  I  had  company  in  these  unaccustomed 
emotions;  the  crowd  gave  way,  and  who  should  come 
into  the  room  but  Mary  Magna!  She  did  not  speak  to 
either  of  us,  but  slipped  to  one  side  and  stood  in  silence 
— while  the  crowd  watched  her  furtively  out  of  the  cor- 
ner of  its  eyes,  thinking  her  some  foreign  princess,  with 
her  bold,  dark  beauty  and  her  costly  attire.  I  went 


74  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

over  to  her,  whispering,  "How  did  you  get  here?"  She 
explained  that,  when  we  did  not  arrive  at  the  studios, 
she  had  called  up  the  Stebbins  home  and  learned  about 
the  accident.  "They  warned  me  not  to  [come  here,  be- 
cause this  man  was  a  terrible  Bolshevik;  he  made  a 
blood-thirsty  speech  to  the  mob.  What  did  he  say?" 

I  started  to  tell;  but  I  was  interrupted  by  a  piercing 
shriek.  A  sick  and  emaciated  young  girl  with  paralyzed 
limbs  had  been  carried  into  the  room.  They  had  laid 
her  on  the  couch,  from  which  the  child  had  been  taken 
away,  and  Carpenter  had  put  his  hands  upon  her.  At 
once  the  girl  had  risen  up — and  here  she  stood,  her  hands 
flung  into  the  air,  literally  screaming  her  triumphant  joy. 
Of  course  the  crowd  took  it  up — these  primitive  people 
are  always  glad  of  a  Chance  to  make  a  big  noise,  so  the 
whole  room  was  in  a  clamor,  and  Carpenter  had  hard 
work  to  extract  himself  from  the  throng  which  wished 
to  touch  his  hands  and  his  clothing,  and  to  worship  him 
on  their  knees. 

He  came  over  to  us,  and  smiled.  "Is  not  this  better 
than  acting,  Mary? 

"Yes,  surely — if  one  can  do  it." 

Said  he:     "Everyone  could  do  it,  if  they  knew." 

"Is  that  really  true?"  she  asked,  with  passionate  earn- 
estness. 

"There  is  a  god  in  every  man,  and  in  every  woman." 

"Why  don't  they  know  it,  then?" 

"There  is  a  god,  and  also  a  beast.  The  beast  is  old, 
and  familiar,  and  powerful ;  the  god  is  new,  and  strange, 
and  afraid.  Because  of  his  fear,  the  beast  kills  him." 

"What  is  the  beast  ?' 

"His  name  is  self ;  and  he  has  many  forms.  In  men  he 
is  greed ;  in  women  he  is  vanity,  and  goes  attired  in  much 


THEY  CALL  ME  CABPENTER  75 

raiment  —  the  chains,  and  the  bracelets,  and  the 
mufflers — " 

"Oh,  don't!"  cried  Mary,  wildly. 

"Very  well,  Mary;  I  won't."  And  he  didn't.  But, 
looking  at  Mary,  it  seemed  that  she  was  just  as  unhappy 
as  if  he  had. 

He  turned  to  an  old  man  who  had  hobbled  into  the 
room  on  crutches.  "Poor  old  comrade !  Poor  old  friend !" 
His  voice  seemed  to  break  with  pity.  "They  have  worked 
you  like  an  old  mule,  until  your  skin  is  cracked  and  your 
joints  grown  hard;  but  they  have  not  been  so  kind  to 
you  as  to  an  old  mule — they  have  left  you  to  suffer!" 

To  a  pale  young  woman  who  staggered  towards  him, 
coughing,  he  cried:  "What  can  I  do  for  you?  They 
are  starving  you  to  death !  You  need  food — and  I  have 
no  food  to  give !"  He  raised  his  arms,  in  sudden  wrath. 
"Bring  forth  the  masters  of  this  city,  who  starve  the 
poor,  while  they  themselves  riot  in  wantonness !" 

But  the  members  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  and 
of  the  Bankers'  Association  of  Western  City  were  not 
within  hearing,  nor  are  their  numbers  as  a  rule  to  be 
found  in  the  telephone  book.  Carpenter  looked  about 
the  place,  now  lined  pretty  well  with  cripples  and  in- 
valids. Only  a  couple  of  hours  of  spreading  rumor  had 
been  needed  to  bring  them  forth,  unholy  and  dreadful 
secrets,  dragged  from  the  dark  corners  and  back  alley- 
ways of  these  tenements.  He  gazed  from  one  crooked 
and  distorted  face  to  another,  and  put  his 'hand  to  his 
forehead  with  a  gesture  of  despair.  "No,  no!"  he  said. 
"It  is  of  no  use !"  He  lifted  his  voice,  calling  once  more 
to  the  masters  of  the  city.  "You  make  them  faster  than 
I  can  heal  them!  You  make  them  by  machinery — and 
he  who  would  help  them  must  break  the  machine !" 

6 


76  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

He  turned  to  me;  and  I  was  startled,  for  it  was  as  if 
he  had  been  inside  my  mind.  "I  know,  it  will  not  be 
easy !  But  remember,  I  broke  the  empire  of  Rome !" 

That  was  his  last  flare.  "I  -can  do  no  more,"  he  whis- 
pered. "My  power  is  gone  from  me ;  I  must  rest."  And 
his  voice  gave  way.  "I  beg  you  to  go,  unhappy  poor  of 
the  world!  I  have  done  all  that  I  can  do  for  you  to- 
night." 

And  silently,  patiently,  as  creatures  accustomed  to  the 
voice  of  doom,  the  sick  and  the  crippled  began  to  hobble 
and  crawl  from  the  room. 


XXII 

He  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  couch,  gazing  into  space,  lost 
in  tragic  thought;  and  Mary  and  I  sat  watching  him,  not 
quite  certain  whether  we  ought  to  withdraw  with  the 
rest.  But  he  did  not  seem  aware  of  our  presence,  so  we 
stayed. 

In  our  world  it  is  not  [considered  permissible  for  people 
to  remain  in  company  without  talking.  If  the  talk  lags, 
we  have  to  cast  hurriedly  about  in  our  minds  for  some- 
thing to  say — it  is  called  "making  conversation."  But 
Carpenter  evidently  did  not  know  about  this  custom,  and 
neither  of  us  instructed  him.  Once  or  twice  I  stole  a 
glance  at  Mary,  marvelling  at  her.  All  her  life  she  had 
been  a  conversational  volcano,  in  a  state  of  perpetual 
eruption;  but  now,  apparently  she  passed  judgment  on 
her  own  remarks,  and  found  them  not  worth  making. 

In  the  doorway  of  the  room  appeared  the  little  boy 
who  had  been  knocked  down  by  the  car.  He  looked  at 
Carpenter,  and  then  came  towards  him.  When  Car- 
penter saw  him,  a  smile  of  welcome  came  upon  his  face ; 
he  stretched  out  an  arm,  and  the  little  fellow  nestled  in 
it.  Other  children  appeared  in  the  doorway,  and  soon 
he  had  a  group  about  him,  sitting  on  his  knees  and  on 
the  couch.  They  were  little  gutter-urchins,  but  he, 
seemingly,  was  interested  in  knowing  their  names  and 
their  relationships,  what  they  learned  in  school,  and  what 
games  they  played.  I  think  he  had  Bertie's  foot-ball 
crowd  in  mind,  for  he  said:  "Some  day  they  will  teach 
you  games  of  love  and  friendship,  instead  of  rivalry  and 
strife." 

77 


78  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

Presently  the  mother  of  the  household  appeared.  She 
was  distressed,  because  it  did  not  seem  possible  that  a 
great  man  should  be  interested  in  the  prattle  of  children, 
when  he  had  people  like  us,  evidently  rich  people,  to  talk 
to.  "You  will  bother  the  master,"  she  said,  in  Spanish. 
He  seemed  to  understand,  and  answered,  "Let  the  chil- 
dren stay  with  me.  They  teach  me  that  the  world  might 
be  happy." 

So  the  prattle  went  on,  and  the  woman  stood  in  the 
doorway,  with  other  women  behind  her,  all  beaming 
with  delight.  They  had  known  all  their  lives  there  was 
something  especially  remarkable  about  these  Children; 
and  here  was  their  pride  confirmed!  When  the  little 
ones  laughed,  and  the  stranger  laughed  with  them,  you 
should  have  seen  the  pleasure  shining  from  a  doorway 
full  of  dusky  Mexican  faces! 

But  after  a  while  one  of  the  children  began  to  rub  his 
eyes,  and  the  mother  exclaimed — it  was  so  late!  The 
children  had  stayed  awake  because  of  the  excitement, 
but  now  they  must  go  to  bed.  She  bundled  them  out 
of  the  room,  and  presently  came  back,  bearing  a  glass  of 
milk  and  a  plate  with  bread  and  an  orange  on  it.  The 
master  might  be  hungry,  she  said,  with  a  humble  little 
bow.  In  her  halting  English  she  offered  to  bring  some- 
thing to  us,  but  she  did  not  suppose  we  would  care  for 
poor  people's  food.  She  took  it  for  granted  that  "poor 
people's  food"  was  what  Carpenter  would  want;  and 
apparently  she  was  right,  for  he  ate  it  with  relish. 
Meantime  he  tried  to  get  the  woman  to  sit  on  the  couch 
beside  him;  but  she  would  not  sit  in  his  presence — or 
was  it  in  the  presence  of  Mary  and  me?  I  had  a  feeling, 
as  she  withdrew,  that  she  might  have  been  glad  to  chat 
with  him,  if  a  million-dollar  movie  queen  and  a  spoiled 
young  club  man  had  not  been  there  to  claim  prior  rights. 


XXIII 

So  presently  we  three  were  alone  once  more;  and 
Mary,  gazing  intently  with  those  big  dark  eyes  that  the 
public  knows  so  well,  opened  up :  "Tell  me,  Mr.  Car- 
penter! Have  you  ever  been  in  love?" 

I  was  startled,  but  if  Carpenter  was,  he  gave  no  sign. 
"Mary,"  he  said,  "I  have  been  in  grief."  Then  thinking, 
perhaps,  that  he  had  been  abrupt,  he  added:  "You, 
Mary — you  have  been  in  love?" 

She  answered:  "No."  I'm  not  sure  if  I  said  any- 
thing out  loud,  but  my  thought  was  easy  to  read,  and 
she  turned  upon  me.  "You  don't  know  what  love  is. 
But  a  woman  knows,  even  though  she  doesn't  act  it." 

"Well,  of  course,"  I  replied;  "if  you  want  to  go  into 
metaphysics — " 

"Metaphysics  be  damned!"  said  Mary,  and  turned 
again  to  Carpenter. 

Said  he :    "A  good  woman  like  you — " 

"Me?"  cried  Mary.  And  she  laughed,  a  wild  laugh. 
"Don't  hit  me  when  you've  got  me  down !  I've  sold  my- 
self for  every  job  I  ever  got;  I  sold  myself  for  every 
jewel  you  saw  on  me  this  afternoon.  You  notice  I've 
got  them  off  now !" 

"I  don't  understand,  Mary,"  he  said,  gently.  "Why 
does  a  woman  like  you  sell  herself?" 

"What  else  has  she  got?  I  was  a  rat  in  a  tenement. 
I  could  have  been  a  drudge,  but  I  wasn't  made  for  that. 
I  sold  myself  for  a  job  in  a  store,  and  then  for  ribbons 
to  be  pretty,  and  then  for  a  place  in  the  Chorus,  and  then 
for  a  speaking  part — so  on  all  the  way.  Now  I  portray 

79 


80  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

other  women  selling  themselves.  They  get  fancy  prices, 
and  so  do  I,  and  that  makes  me  a  'star.'  I  hope  you'll 
never  see  my  pictures." 

I  sat  watching  this  scene,  marvelling  more  than  ever. 
That  tone  in  Mary  Magna's  voice  was  a  new  one  to  me ; 
perhaps  she  had  not  used  it  since  she  played  her  last 
"speaking  part !"  I  thought  to  myself,  there  was  a  crisis 
impending  in  the  screen  industry. 

Said  Carpenter :  "What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it, 
Mary?" 

"What  can  I  do?  My  contract  has  seven  years  to 
run." 

"Couldn't  you  do  something  honest  ?  I  mean,  couldn't 
you  tell  an  honest  story  in  your  pictures?" 

"Me  ?  My  God !  Tell  that  to  T-S,  and  watch  his  face  1 
Why,  they  hunt  all  the  world  over  for  some  new  kind 
of  [clothes  for  me  to  take  off ;  they  search  all  history  for 
some  war  I  can  cause,  some  empire  I  can  wreck.  Me 
play  an  honest  woman?  The  public  would  call  it  a 
joke,  and  the  screen  people  would  call  it  indecent." 

Carpenter  got  up,  and  began  to  pace  the  room. 
"Mary,"  said  he,  "I  once  lived  under  the  Roman 
empire — " 

"Yes,  I  know.  I  was  Cleopatra,  and  again  I  was 
Nero's  mistress  while  he  watched  the  city  burning." 

"Rome  was  rough,  and  crude,  and  poor,  Mary.  Rome 
was  nothing  to  this.  This  is  Satan  on  my  Father's 
throne,  making  new  worlds  for  himself."  He  paced  the 
room  again,  then  turned  and  said:  "I  don't  understand 
this  world.  I  must  know  more  about  it,  if  I  am  to  save 
it !"  There  was  such  grief,  such  selfless  pity  in  his  voice 
as  he  repeated  this :  "I  must  know  more !" 

"You  know  everything!"  exclaimed  Mary,  suddenly. 
"You  are  all  wisdom !" 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  81 

But  he  went  on,  speaking  as  if  to  himself,  pondering 
his  problem :  "To  serve  others,  yet  not  to  indulge  them ; 
for  the  cause  of  their  enslavment  is  that  they  have 
accepted  service  without  return.  And  how  shall  one 
preach  patience  to  the  poor,  when  the  masters  make  such 
preaching  a  new  means  of  enslavement?"  He  looked  at 
me,  as  if  he  thought  that  I  could  answer  his  question. 
Then  with  sudden  energy  he  exclaimed:  "I  must  meet 
those  who  are  in  rebellion  against  enslavement!  To- 
morrow I  want  to  meet  the  strikers — all  the  strikers  in 
your  city." 

"You'll  have  your  hands  full,"  I  said — for  I  was  a 
coward,  and  wanted  to  keep  him  out  of  it. 

"How  shall  I  find  them?"  he  persisted. 

"I  don't  know ;  I  suppose  their  headquarters  are  at  the 
Labor  Temple." 

"I  will  go  there.  Meantime,  I  fear  I  shall  have  to  be 
alone.  I  need  to  think  about  the  things  I  have  learned." 

"Where  are  you  going  to  stay?" 

"I  don't  know." 

Said  Mary,  hesitatingly:     "My  car  is  outside — " 

He  answered:  "In  ancient  days  I  saw  the  young 
patricians  drive  through  the  streets  in  their  chariots ;  no, 
I  shall  not  ride  with  them  again." 

Said  I :  "I  have  an  apartment  at  the  club,  with  plenty 
of  room — " 

"No,  no,  friend.  I  have  seen  enough  of  the  masters 
of  this  city.  From  now  on,  if  you  want  to  see  me,  you 
will  find  me  among  the  poor." 

"If  I  may  meet  you  in  the  morning,"  I  said — "to  show 
you  to  the  Labor  Temple — "  Yes,  I  would  see  him 
through ! 


82  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

"By  all  means,"  said  he.  "But  you  must  come  early, 
for  I  cannot  delay." 

"Where  shall  I  come?" 

"Come  here.  I  am  sure  these  people  will  give  me 
shelter."  He  looked  about  him.  "I  suspect  that  some 
of  them  sleep  in  this  room ;  but  they  have  a  little  porch 
outside,  and  if  they  will  let  me  stay  there  I  shall  be 
alone,  which  is  what  I  want  now."  After  a  moment,  he 
added,  "What  I  wish  to  do  is  to  pray.  Have  you  ever 
tried  prayer,  Mary?" 

She  answered,  simply,  "I  wouldn't  know  how." 

"Come  to  me,  and  I  will  teach  you,"  he  said. 


XXIV 

I  went  early  next  morning,  but  not  early  enough.  The 
Mexican  woman  told  me  that  "the  master"  had  waited, 
and  finally  had  gone.  He  had  asked  the  way  to  the 
Labor  Temple,  and  left  word  that  I  would  find  him  there. 
So  I  stepped  back  into  my  taxi,  and  told  the  driver  to 
take  the  most  direct  route. 

Meantime  I  kept  watch  for  my  friend,  and  I  did  not 
have  to  watch  very  long.  There  was  a  crowd  ahead, 
the  street  was  blocked,  and  a  premonition  came  to  me: 
"Good  Lord,  I'm  too  late — he's  got  into  some  new 
mess!"  I  leaned  out  of  the  window,  and  sure  enough, 
there  he  was  standing  on  the  tail-end  of  a  truck,  harangu- 
ing a  crowd  whteh  packed  the  street  from  one  line  of 
houses  to  the  other.  "And  before  he  got  half  way  to 
the  Labor  Temple !"  I  thought  to  myself. 

I  got  out,  and  paid  the  driver  of  the  taxi,  and  pushed 
into  the  crowd.  Now  and  then  I  caught  a  few  words  of 
what  Carpenter  was  telling  them,  and  it  seemed  quite 
harmless — that  they  were  all  brothers,  that  they  should 
love  one  another,  and  not  do  one  another  injustice. 
What  could  there  have  been  that  made  him  think  it  nec- 
essary to  deliver  this  message  before  breakfast?  I 
looked  about,  noting  that  it  was  the  Hebrew  quarter  of 
the  city,  plastered  with  signs  with  queer,  spattered-up 
letters.  I  thought :  "Holy  smoke !  Is  he  going  to  con- 
vert the  Jews?" 

I  pushed  my  way  farther  into  the  crowd,  and  saw  a 
policeman,  and  went  up  to  him.  "Officer,  what's  this  all 
about?"  I  spoke  as  one  wearing  the  latest  cut  of  clothes, 

83 


84  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

and  he  answered  accordingly.  "Search  me!  They 
brought  us  out  on  a  riot  call,  but  when  we  got  here,  it 
seems  to  have  turned  into  a  revival  meeting." 

I  got  part  of  the  story  from  this  policeman,  and  part 
from  a  couple  of  bystanders.  It  appeared  that  some 
Jewish  lady,  getting  her  shopping  done  early,  had  com- 
plained of  getting  short  weight,  and  the  butcher  had 
ordered  her  out  of  his  shop,  and  she  had  stopped  to  ex- 
press her  opinion  of  profiteers,  and  he  had  thrown  her 
out,  and  she  had  stood  on  the  sidewalk  and  shrieked 
until  all  the  ladies  in  this  crowded  quarter  had  joined 
her.  Their  fury  against  soaring  prices  and  wages  that 
never  kept  up  with  them,  had  burst  all  bounds,  and  they 
had  set  out  to  clean  up  the  butcher-shop  with  the 
butcher.  So  there  was  Carpenter,  on  his  way  to  the 
Labor  Temple,  with  another  mob  to  quell ! 

"You  know  how  it  is,"  said  the  policeman.  "It  really 
does  cost  these  poor  devils  a  lot  to  live,  and  they  say 
prices  are  going  down,  but  I  can't  see  it  anywhere  but 
in  the  papers." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "I  guess  you  were  glad  enough  to  have 
somebody  do  this  job." 

He  grinned.  "You  bet !  I've  tackled  crowds  of  women 
before  this,  and  you  don't  like  to  hit  them,  but  they 
'claw  into  your  face  if  you  don't.  I  guess  the  captain 
will  let  this  bird  spout  for  a  bit,  even  if  he  does  block 
the  traffic." 

We  listened  for  a  minute.  "Bear  in  mind,  my  friends, 
I  am  come  among  you;  and  I  shall  not  desert  you.  I 
give  you  my  justice,  I  give  you  my  freedom.  Your 
cause  is  my  cause,  world  without  end.  Amen." 

"Now  wouldn't  that  jar  you?"  remarked  the  "copper." 
"Holy  Christ,  if  you'd  hear  some  of  the  nuts  we  have  to 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  85 

listen  to  on  street-corners!  What  do  you  suppose  that 
guy  thinks  he  can  do,  dressed  up  in  Abraham's  night- 
shirt?" 

Said  Carpenter:  "The  days  of  the  exploiter  are  num- 
bered. The  thrones  of  the  mighty  are  tottering,  and  the 
earth  shall  belong  to  them  that  labor.  He  that  toils 
not,  neither  shall  he  eat,  and  they  that  grow  fat  upon 
the  blood  of  the  people — they  shall  grow  lean  again." 

"Now  what  do  you  think  o'  that?"  demanded  the 
guardian  of  authority.  "If  that  ain't  regular  Bolshevik! 
talk,  then  I'm  dopy.  I'll  bet  the  captain  don't  stand 
much  more  of  that." 

Fortunately  the  captain's  endurance  was  not  put  to  the 
test.  The  orator  had  reached  the  climax  of  his  elo- 
quence. "The  kingdom  of  righteousness  is  at  hand.  The 
word  will  be  spoken,  the  way  will  be  made  clear.  Mean- 
time, my  people,  I  bid  you  go  your  way  in  pea^ce.  Let 
there  be  no  more  disturbance,  to  bring  upon  you  the 
contempt  of  those  who  do  not  understand  your  troubles, 
nor  share  the  heartbreak  of  the  poor.  My  people,  take 
my  peace  with  you!"  He  stretched  out  his  arms  in  in- 
vocation, and  there  was  a  murmur  of  applause,  and  the 
crowd  began  slowly  to  disperse. 

Which  seemed  to  remind  my  friend  the  policeman  that 
he  had  authority  to  exercise.  He  began  to  poke  his 
stick  into  the  humped  backs  of  poor  Jewish  tailors,  and 
into  the  ample  stomachs  of  fat  Jewish  housewives. 
"Come  on  now,  get  along  with  you,  and  let  somebody 
else  have  a  bit  o'  the  street."  I  pushed  my  way  forward, 
by  virtue  of  my  good  clothes,  and  got  through  the  press 
about  Carpenter,  and  took  him  by  the  arm,  saying, 
"Come  on  now,  let's  see  if  we  can't  get  to  the  Labor 
Temple." 


XXV 

There  was  a  crowd  following  us,  of  course;  and  I 
sought  to  keep  Carpenter  busy  in  conversation,  to  in- 
dicate that  the  crowd  was  not  wanted.  But  before  we 
had  gone  half  a  block  I  felt  some  one  touch  me  on  the 
arm,  and  heard  a  voice,  saying,  "I  beg  pardon,  I'm  a 
reporter  for  the  'Evening  Blare'." 

Now,  of  course,  I  had  known  this  must  come;  I  had 
realized  that  I  would  be  getting  myself  in  for  it,  if  I 
went  to  join  Carpenter  that  morning.  I  had  planned  to 
warn  him,  to  explain  to  him  what  our  newspapers  are; 
but  how  could  I  have  foreseen  that  he  was  going  to  get 
into  a  riot  before  breakfast,  and  bring  out  the  police 
reserves  and  the  police  reporters? 

"Excuse  us,"  I  said,  coldly.  "We  have  something 
urgent — " 

"I  just  want  to  get  something  of  this  gentleman's 
speech — " 

"We  are  on  our  way  to  the  Labor  Temple.  If  you 
will  come  there  in  a  couple  of  hours,  we  will  give  you 
an  interview." 

"But  I  must  have  a  story  for  our  first  edition,  that 
goes  to  press  before  that." 

I  had  Carpenter  by  the  arm,  and  kept  him  firmly 
walking.  I  could  not  get  rid  of  the  reporter,  but  I  was 
resolved  to  get  my  warning  spoken,  regardless  of  any- 
thing. Said  I :  "This  is  a  matter  extremely  urgent  for 
you  to  understand,  Mr.  Carpenter.  This  young  man 
represents  a  newspaper,  and  anything  you  say  to  him 
will  be  read  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours  by  perhaps  a 

86 


THEY  CAIX  ME  CARPENTER  87 

hundred  thousand  people.  If  it  is  found  especially  sen- 
sational, the  Continental  Press  may  put  it  on  its  wires, 
and  it  will  go  to  several  hundred  papers  all  over  the 
country — " 

"Twelve  hundred  and  thirty-seven  papers,"  Corrected 
the  young  man. 

"So  you  see,  it  is  necessary  that  you  should  be  care- 
ful what  you  say — far  more  so  than  if  you  were  speaking 
to  a  handful  of  Mexican  laborers  or  Jewish  housewives." 

Said  Carpenter:  "I  don't  understand  what  you  mean. 
When  I  speak,  I  speak  the  truth." 

"Yes,  of  course,"  I  replied — and  meantime  I  was  rack- 
ing my  poor  wits  figuring  out  how  to  present  this  strange 
acquaintance  of  mine  most  tactfully  to  the  world.  I 
knew  the  reporter  would  not  tarry  long;  he  would  grab 
a  few  sentences,  and  rush  away  to  telephone  them  in. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'm  free  to  tell,"  I  began.  'This 
gentleman  is  a  healer,  a  man  of  very  remarkable  gifts. 
Mental  healing,  you  understand." 

"I  get  you,"  said  the  reporter.     "Some  religion?" 

"Mr.  Carpenter  teaches  a  new  religion." 

"I  see.  A  sort  of  prophet !  And  where  does  he  come 
from?" 

I  tried  to  evade.    "He  has  just  arrived — " 

But  the  blood-hound  of  the  press  was  not  going  to  be 
evaded  "Where  do  you  come  from,  sir?"  he  demanded, 
of  Carpenter. 

To  which  Carpenter  answered,  promptly:  "From 
God." 

"From  God  ?  Er — oh,  I  see.  From  God !  Most  inter- 
esting! How  long  ago,  may  I  ask?" 

"Yesterday." 

"Oh!    That  is  indeed  extraordinary!    And  this  mob 


88  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

that  you've  just  been  addressing — did  you  use  some  kind 
of  mind  cure  on  them?" 

I  could  see  the  story  taking  shape;  the  headlines 
flamed  before  my  mind's  eye — streamer  heads,  all  the 
way  across  the  sheet,  after  the  fashion  of  our  evening 
papers : 

PROPHET  FRESH  FROM  GOD  QUELLS  MOB 


XXVI 

I  came  to  a  sudden  decision  in  this  crisis.  The  sensible 
thing  to  do  was  to  meet  the  issue  boldly,  and  take  the 
job  of  launching  Carpenter  under  proper  auspices.  He 
really  was  a  wonderful  man,  and  deserved  to  be  treated 
decently. 

I  addressed  the  reporter  again.  "Listen.  This  gen- 
tleman is  a  man  of  remarkable  gifts,  and  does  not  take 
money  for  them;  so,  if  you  are  going  to  tell  about  him 
at  all,  do  it  in  a  dignified  way." 

"Of  course !     I  had  no  other  idea — " 

"Your  city  editor  might  have  another  idea,"  I  re- 
marked, drily.  "Permit  me  to  introduce  myself."  I 
gave  him  my  name,  and  saw  him  start. 

"You  mean  the  Mr. — "  Then,  giving  me  a  swift 
glance,  he  decided  it  was  not  necessary  to  complete  the 
question. 

Said  I :    "Here  is  my  card,"  and  handed  it  to  him. 

He  glanced  at  it,  and  said,  "I'll  be  very  glad  to  ex- 
plain matters  to  the  desk,  and  see  that  the  story  is  han- 
dled exactly  as  you  wish." 

"Thank  you,"  I  replied.  "Now,  yesterday  I  was  caught 
in  that  mob  at  the  picture  theatre,  and  knocked  nearly 
insensible.  This  gentleman  found  me,  and  healed  me 
almost  instantly.  Naturally,  I  am  grateful,  and  as  I  find 
that  he  is  a  teacher,  who  aids  the  poor,  and  will  not  take 
money  from  anyone,  I  want  to  thank  him  publicly,  and 
help  to  make  him  known." 

"Of  course,  of  course!"  said  the  reporter;  and  before 
my  mind's  eye  flashed  a  new  set  of  headlines : 

89 


90  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

WEALTHY  CLUBMAN  MIRACULOUSLY 
HEALED 

Or  perhaps  it  would  be  a  double  head: 

CLUBMAN,  SLUGGED  BY  MOB,  HEALED  BY 
PROPHET 

WEALTHY  SCION,  VICTIM  OF  PICTURE  RIOT, 
RESTORED  BY  MAN  FRESH  FROM  GOD 

I  thought  that  was  sensation  enough,  and  that  the 
interview  would  end ;  but  alas  for  my  hopes !  Said  that 
blood-hound  of  the  press:  "Will  you  give  public  heal- 
ings to  the  people,  Mr.  Carpenter?" 

To  which  Carpenter  answered:  "I  am  not  interested 
in  giving  healings." 

"What?    Why  not?" 

"Worldly  and  corrupt  people  ask  me  to  do  miracles, 
to  prove  my  power  to  them.  But  the  proof  I  bring  to 
the  world  is  a  new  vision  and  a  new  hope." 

"Oh,  I  see!    Your  religion!     May  I  ask  about  it?" 

"You  are  the  first;  the  world  will  follow  you.  Say  to 
the  people  that  I  have  come  to  understand  the  nature 
and  causes  of  their  mobs." 

"Mobs  ?"  said  the  puzzled  young  blood-hound. 

"I  wish  to  understand  a  land  which  is  governed  by 
mobs;  I  wish  to  know,  who  lives  upon  the  madness  of 
others." 

"You  have  been  studying  a  mob  this  morning?"  in- 
quired the  reporter. 

"I  ask,  why  do  the  police  of  Mobland  put  down  the 
mobs  of  the  poor,  and  not  the  mobs  of  the  rich?  I  ask, 
who  pays  the  police,  and  ,who  pays  the  mobs." 

"I  see!  You  are  .some  kind  of  radical!"  And  with 
sickness  of  soul  I  saw  another  headline  before  my  mind's 
eye: 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  91 

WEALTHY  CLUBMAN  AIDS  BOLSHEVIK 
PROPHET 

I  hastened  to  break  in :  "Mr.  Carpenter  is  not  a  radi- 
cal; he  is  a  lover  of  man."  But  then  I  realized,  that 
did  not  sound  just  right.  How  the  devil  was  I  to  de- 
scribe this  man?  How  came  it  that  all  the  phrases  of 
brotherhood  and  love  had  come  to  be  tainted  with  "radi- 
calism"? I  tried  again:  "He  is  a  friend  of  peace." 

"Oh,  really !"  observed  the  reporter.  "A  pacifist,  hey  ?" 
And  I  thought :  "Damn  the  hound !"  I  knew,  of  course, 
that  he  had  the  rest  of  the  formula  in  his  head:  "Pro- 
German  !"  Out  loud  I  said :  "He  teaches  brotherhood." 

But  the  hound  was  not  interested  in  my  generalities 
and  evasions.  "Where  have  you  seen  mobs  of  the  rich, 
Mr.  Carpenter?" 

"I  have  seen  them  whirling  through  the  streets  in  auto- 
mobiles, killing  the  children  of  the  poor." 

"You  have  seen  that?" 

"I  saw  it  last  night." 

Now,  I  had  inspected  our  "Times"  and  our  "Ex- 
aminer" that  morning,  and  noted  that  both,  in  their 
accounts  of  the  accident,  had  given  only  the  name  of  the 
chauffeur,  and  suppressed  that  of  the  owner.  I  under- 
stood what  an  amount  of  social  and  financial  pressure 
that  feat  had  taken;  and  here  was  Carpenter  about  to 
spoil  it!  I  laid  my  hand  on  his  arm,  saying:  "My 
friend,  you  were  a  guest  in  that  car.  You  are  not  at 
liberty  to  talk  about  it." 

I  expected  to  be  argued  with;  but  Carpenter  appar- 
ently conceded  my  point,  for  he  fell  silent.  It  was  the 
young  reporter  who  spoke.  "You  were  in  an  auto  acci- 
dent, I  judge?  We  had  only  one  report  of  a  death,  and 
that  was  caused  by  Mrs.  Stebbins'  car.  Were  you  in 


92  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

that?"  Then,  as  neither  Carpenter  nor  I  replied,  he 
laughed.  "It  doesn't  matter,  because  I  couldn't  use  the 
story.  Mr.  Stebbins  is  one  of  our  'sacred  cows/  Good- 
day,  and  thank  you." 

He  started  away ;  and  suddenly  all  my  terror  of  news- 
paper publicity  overwhelmed  me.  I  simply  could  not 
face  the  public  as  guardian  of  a  Bolshevik!  I  shouted: 
"Young  man !"  And  the  reporter  turned,  respectfully,  to 
listen.  "I  tell  you,  Mr.  Carpenter  is  not  a  radical!  Get 
that  clear!"  And  to  the  young  man's  skeptical  half- 
smile  I  exclaimed:  "He's  a  Christian!"  At  which  the 
reporter  laughed  out  loud. 


XXVII 

We  got  to  the  Labor  Temple,  and  found  the  place  in 
a  buzz  of  excitement,  over  what  had  occurred  in  front 
of  Prince's  last  night.  I  had  suspected  rough  work  on 
the  part  of  the  police,  and  here  was  the  living  evidence 
— men  with  bandages  over  cracked  heads,  men  pulling 
open  their  shirts  or  pulling  up  their  sleeves  to  show  black 
and  blue  bruises.  In  the  headquarters  of  the  Restaurant 
Workers  we  found  a  crowd,  jabbering  in  a  dozen  lan- 
guages about  their  troubles;  we  learned  that  there  were 
eight  in  jail,  and  several  in  the  hospital,  one  not  expected 
to  live.  All  that  had  been  going  on,  while  we  sat  at 
table  gluttonizing — and  while  tears  were  running  down 
Carpenter's  cheeks! 

It  seemed  to  me  that  every  third  man  in  the  crowd 
had  one  of  the  morning's  newspapers  in  his  hand — the 
newspapers  which  told  how  a  furious  mab  of  armed 
ruffians  had  sought  to  break  its  way  into  Prince's,  and 
had  with  difficulty  been  driven  off  by  the  gallant  pro- 
tectors of  the  law.  A  man  would  read  some  passage 
which  struck  him  as  especially  false;  he  would  tell  what 
he  had  seen  or  done,  and  he  would  crumple  the  paper  in 
his  hand  and  cry.  "The  liars!  The  dirty  liars!" — adding 
adjectives  not  suitable  for  print. 

I  realized  more  than  ever  that  I  had  made  a  mistake 
in  letting  Carpenter  get  into  this  place.  It  was  no  re- 
sort for  anybody  who  wanted  to  be  patriotic,  or  happy 
about  the  world.  All  sorts  of  wonderful  promises  had 
been  made  to  labor,  to  persuade  it  to  win  the  war;  and 
now  labor  came  with  the  blank  check,  duly  filled  out 


94  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

according  to  its  fancy — and  was  in  process  of  being 
kicked  downstairs.  Wages  were  being  "liquidated,"  as 
the  phrase  had  it;  and  there  was  an  endless  succession 
of  futile  strikes,  all  pitiful  failures.  You  must  under- 
stand that  Western  City  is  the  home  of  the  "open  shop ;" 
the  poor  devils  who  went  on  strike  were  locked  out  of 
the  factories,  and  slugged  off  the  streets ;  their  organiza- 
tions were  betrayed  by  spies,  and  their  policies  dedeviled 
by  provocateurs.  And  all  the  mass  of  misery  resulting 
seemed  to  have  crowded  into  one  building  this  bright 
November  morning;  pitiful  figures,  men  and  women  and 
even  a  few  children — for  some  had  been  turned  out  of 
their  homes,  and  had  no  place  to  go;  ragged,  haggard, 
and  underfed;  weeping,  some  of  them,  with  pain,  or 
lifting  their  clenched  hands  in  a  passion  of  impotent  fury. 
My  friend  T-S,  the  king  of  the  movies,  with  all  his  re- 
sources, could  not  have  made  a  more  complete  picture 
of  human  misery — nor  one  more  fitted  to  work  on  the 
sensitive  soul  of  a  prophet,  and  persuade  him  that  capital- 
ist America  was  worse  than  imperial  Rome. 

The  arrival  of  Carpenter  attracted  no  particular  atten- 
tion. The  troubles  of  these  people  were  too  recent  for 
them  to  be  aware  of  anything  else.  All  they  wanted  was 
some  one  to  tell  their  troubles  to,  and  they  quickly  found 
that  this  stranger  was  available  for  the  purpose.  He 
asked  many  questions,  and  before  long  had  a  crowd 
about  him — as  if  he  were  some  sort  of  government  com- 
missioner, conducting  an  investigation.  It  was  an  all 
day  job,  apparently;  I  hung  round,  trying  to  keep  my- 
self inconspicuous. 

Towards  noon  Jcame  a  boy  with  newspapers,  and  I 
bought  the  early  edition  of  the  "Evening  Blare."  Yes, 
there  it  was — all  the  way  across  the  front  page ;  not  even 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  95 

a  big  fire  at  the  harbor  and  an  earthquake  in  Japan  had 
been  able  to  displace  it.  As  I  had  foreseen,  the  reporter 
had  played  up  the  most  sensational  aspects  of  the  mat- 
ter: Carpenter  announced  himself  as  a  prophet  only 
twenty-four  hours  out  of  God's  presence,  and  proved  it 
by  healing  the  lame  and  the  halt  and  the  blind — and  also 
by  hypnotising  everyone  he  spoke  to,  from  a  wealthy 
young  clubman  to  a  mob  of  Jewish  housewives.  In- 
cidentally he  denounced  America  as  "Mobland,"  and 
called  it  a  country  governed  by  madmen. 

I  took  the  paper  to  him,  thinking  to  teach  him  a  little 
worldly  prudence.  Said  I :  "You  remember,  I  tried  to 
keep  out  that  stuff  about  mobs — " 

He  took  the  sheet  from  my  hands  and  looked  at  the 
headlines.  I  saw  his  nostrils  dilate,  and  his  eyes  flash. 
"Mobs?  This  paper  is  a  mob!  It  is  the  worst  of  your 
mobs!"  And  it  fell  to  the  floor,  and  he  put  his  foot  on 
the  flaring  print. 

Said  he:  "You  talk  about  mobs — listen  to  this." 
Then,  to  one  of  the  group  about  him:  "Tell  how  they 
mobbed  you !"  The  man  thus  addressed,  a  little  Russian 
tailor  named  Korwsky,  narrated  in  his  halting  English 
that  he  was  the  secretary  of  the  tailors'  union,  and  they 
had  a  strike,  and  a  few  days  ago  their  offices  had  been 
raided  at  night,  the  door  "jimrned"  open  and  the  desk 
rifled  of  all  the  papers  and  records.  Evidently  it  had 
been  done  by  the  bosses  or  their  agents,  for  nothing  had 
been  taken  but  papers  which  would  t>e  of  use  against 
the  strike.  "Dey  got  our  members'  list,"  said  Korwsky. 
"Dey  send  people  to  frighten  'em  back  to  verk!  Dey 
call  loans,  dey  git  girls  fired  from  stores  if  dey  got  jobs 
— dey  hound  'em  every  way!" 

The  speaker  went  on  to  declare  that  no  such  job  could 


96  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

have  been  pulled  off  without  the  police  knowing;  yet 
they  made  no  move  to  arrest  the  criminals.  His  voice 
trembled  with  indignation;  and  Carpenter  turned  to  me. 

You  have  mobs  that  come  at  night,  with  dark  lanterns 
and  burglars'  tools!" 

I  had  noticed  among  the  men  talking  to  Carpenter  one 
who  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  him.  He  was  tall 
and  not  too  well  nourished;  but  instead  of  the  prophet's 
robes  of  white  and  amethyst,  he  wore  the  clothes  of  a 
working-man,  a  little  too  short  in  the  sleeves ;  and  where 
Carpenter  had  a  soft  and  silky  brown  beard,  this  man 
had  a  skinny  Adam's  apple  that  worked  up  and  down. 
He  was  something  of  an  agitator,  I  judged,  and  he  ap- 
peared to  have  a  religious  streak.  "I  am  a  Christian," 
I  heard  him  say;  "but  one  of  the  kind  that  speak  out 
against  injustice.  And  I  can  show  you  Bible  texts  for 
it,"  he  insisted.  "I  can  prove  it  by  the  word  of  God." 

This  man's  name  was  James,  and  I  learned  that  he 
was  one  of  the  striking  carpenters.  The  prophet  turned 
to  him,  and  said :  "Tell  him  your  story."  So  the  other 
took  from  his  pocket  a  greasy  note-book,  and  produced 
a  newspaper  clipping,  quoting  an  injunction  which  Judge 
Wollcott  had  issued  against  his  union.  "Read  that," 
said  he ;  but  I  answered  that  I  knew  about  it.  I  remember 
hearing  my  uncle  laughing  over  the  matter  at  the  dinner- 
table,  saying  that  "Bobbie"  Wollcott  had  forbidden  the 
strikers  to  do  everything  but  sit  on  air  and  walk  on 
water.  And  now  I  got  another  view  of  "Bobbie,"  this 
time  from  a  prophet  fresh  from  God.  Said  the  prophet: 
"Your  judges  are  mobs !" 


XXVIII 

Soon  after  the  noon-hour,  there  pushed  his  way  into 
the  crowd  a  young  man,  whom  I  recognized  as  one  of 
the  secretaries  of  T-S.  He  was  looking  for  me,  and  told 
me  in  a  whisper  that  his  employer  was  downstairs  in 
his  car,  and  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Carpenter  and  myself 
about  something  important.  He  did  not  want  to  come 
up,  because  it  was  too  conspicuous.  Would  we  come 
down  and  take  a  little  drive?  I  answered  that  I  should 
be  willing,  but  I  knew  Carpenter  would  not — he  had 
been  in  an  automobile  accident  the  night  before,  and  had 
refused  to  ride  again. 

Then,  said  the  secretary,  was  there  some  room  where 
we  could  meet?  I  went  to  one  of  the  officials,  and  asked 
for  a  vacant  room  where  I  could  talk  about  a  private 
matter  with  a  friend.  I  managed  to  separate  Carpenter 
from  his  crowd  and  took  him  to  the  room,  and  presently 
Everett,  the  secretary,  came  with  T-S. 

The  great  man  shook  hands  cordially  with  both  of 
us;  then,  looking  round  to  make  sure  that  no  one  heard 
us,  he  began:  "Mr.  Carpenter,  I  told  you  I  vould  give 
a  tousand  dollars  to  dese  strikers." 

The  other's  face,  which  had  looked  so  grey  and  hag- 
gard, was  suddenly  illumined  as  if  by  his  magical  halo. 
"I  had  forgotten  it!  There  are  so  many  hungry  in 
there ;  I  have  been  watching  them,  wondering  when  they 
would  be  fed." 

"All  right,"  said  T-S.  "Here  you  are."  And  reach- 
ing into  his  pocket,  he  produced  a  wad  of  new  shiny  hun- 
dred dollar  notes,  folded  together.  "Count  'em." 

97 


98  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

Carpenter  took  the  money  in  his  hand.  "So  this  is 
it!"  he  said.  He  looked  at  it,  as  if  he  were  inspecting 
some  strange  creature  from  the  wilds  of  Patagonia. 

"It's  de  real  stuff,"  said  T-S,  with  a  grin. 

"The  stuff  for  which  men  sell  their  souls,  and  women 
their  virtue !  For  which  you  starve  and  beat  and  torture 
one  another — " 

"Ain't  it  pretty?"  said  the  magnate,  not  a  bit  embar- 
rassed. 

The  other  began  reading  the  writing  on  the  notes — 
as  you  may  remember  having  done  in  some  far-off  time 
of  childhood.  "Whose  picture  is  this?"  he  asked. 

"I  dunno,"  said  the  magnate.  "De  Secretary  of  de 
Treasury,  I  reckon." 

"But,"  said  the  other,  "why  not  your  picture,  Mr.  T-S?" 

"Mine?" 

"Of  course." 

"My  picture  on  de  money?" 

"Why  not?  You  are  the  one  who  makes  it,  and  en- 
ables everyone  else  to  make  it." 

It  was  one  of  those  brand  new  ideas  that  come  only  to 
geniuses  and  children.  I  could  see  that  T-S  had  never 
thought  of  it  before ;  also,  that  he  found  it  interesting  to 
think  of.  Carpenter  went  on:  "If  your  picture  was  on 
it,  then  every  one  would  know  what  it  meant.  People 
would  say :  'Render  unto  T-S  the  things  that  are  T-S's.' 
When  you  were  paying  off  your  mobs,  you  would  pay 
them  with  your  own  money,  and  whenever  they  spent 
it,  the  people  would  bow  to  Caesar — I  mean  to  T-S." 

He  said  it  without  the  trace  of  a  smile;  and  T-S  had 
no  idea  there  was  a  smile  anywhere  in  the  neighborhood. 
In  a  business-like  tone  he  said:  "I'll  tink  about  it." 
Then  he  went  on:  "You  give  it  to  de  strikers — " 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  99 

But  Carpenter  interrupted:  "It  was  you  who  were 
going  to  give  it.  I  cannot  give  nor  take  money." 

"You  mean  you  von't  take  it  to  dem?" 

"I  couldn't  possibly  do  it,  Mr.  T-S ." 

"But,  man—" 

"Your  promise  was  that  you  would  come  and  give  it. 
Now  do  so." 

"But,  Mr.  Carpenter,  if  I  vas  to  do  such  a  ting,  it  vould 
cost  me  a  million  dollars.  I  vould  git  into  a  row  vit  de 
Merchants'  and  Manufacturers'  Association,  dey  vould 
boycott  my  business,  dey  vould  give  me  a  black  eye  all 
over  de  country.  You  dunno  vot  you're  askin',  Mr. 
Carpenter." 

"I  understand  then — you  are  in  business  alliance  with 
men  who  are  starving  these  people  into  submission,  and 
you  are  afraid  to  help  them?  Afraid  to  feed  the  poor!" 
The  far-off,  wondering  look  came  again  to  his  face. 
"The  world  is  organized!"  he  said,  to  himself.  "There 
is  a  mob  of  masters !  What  can  I  do  to  save  the  people?" 

T-S  was  unchanged  in  his  cheerful  good-nature.  "You 
give  dem  a  tousand  dollars  and  you  help  a  lot.  Nobody 
can  do  it  all." 

But  Carpenter  was  not  satisfied;  he  shook  his  head, 
sadly.  "Please  take  this,"  he  said,  and  pressed  the  roll 
of  bills  back  into  the  hands  of  the  astounded  magnate ! 


XXIX 

However,  T-S  had  come  there  to  get  something  that 
day,  and  I  thought  I  knew  what  it  was.  He  swallowed 
his  consternation,  and  all  the  rest  of  his  emotions. 
"Now,  now,  Mr.  Carpenter!  Ve  ain't  a-goin'  to  quarrel 
about  a  ting  like  dat.  Dem  fellers  is  hungry,  and  de 
money  vill  give  dem  vun  good  feed.  Ve  git  somebody 
to  bring  it  to  dem,  and  ve  be  friends  shoost  de  same. 
Billy,  maybe  you  could  give  it,  hey?" 

I  drew  back  with  a  laugh.  "You  don't  get  me  into 
your  quarrels !" 

"Veil,"  said  T-S — and  suddenly  he  had  an  inspiration. 
"I  know.  I  git  Mary  Magna  to  give  it!  She's  a 
voman !" 

Carpenter  turned  with  sudden  wonder.  "Then  women 
are  permitted  to  have  hearts  ?" 

"Shoost  so,  Mr.  Carpenter !  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Ve  business 
fellers — my  Gawd,  if  you  knew  vot  business  is,  you'd 
vunder  ve  got  hearts  enough  to  keep  our  blood  movin'." 

"Business,"  said  Carpenter,  still  pondering.  "Then 
it's  business — " 

"Yes,  business—"  put  in  T-S.  "Dat's  it!"  And  he 
lowered  his  voice,  and  looked  round  once  more.  "It's 
time  ve  vas  talkin'  business  now!  Mr.  Carpenter,  I  be 
frank  vit  you,  I  put  all  my  cards  on  de  table.  I  seen  de 
papers  shoost  now,  vot  vunderful  tings  you  do — healin' 
de  sick  and  quellin'  de  mobs  and  all  dat — and  I  tink  I 
gotta  raise  my  offer,  Mr.  Carpenter.  If  you  sign  a  con- 
tract I  got  here  in  my  pocket,  I  pay  you  a  tousand  dollars 
a  veek,  Vot  you  say,  my  friend?" 

100 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

Carpenter  did  not  say  anything,  and  so  the  magnate 
began  to  expatiate  upon  the  artistic  triumphs  he  would 
achieve.  "I  make  such  a  picture  fer  you  as  de  vorld 
never  seen  before.  You  can  do  shoost  vot  you  vant  in 
dat  story — all  de  tings  you  like  to  do,  and  nuttin'  you 
didn't  like.  I  never  said  dat  to  no  man  before,  but  I 
know  you  now,  Mr.  Carpenter,  and  all  I  ask  you  is  to 
heal  de  sick  and  quell  de  mobs,  shoost  like  today.  I 
pledge  you  my  vord — I  put  it  in  de  contract  if  you  say 
so — I  make  nuttin'  but  Bible  pictures." 

"That  is  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  T-S,  and  I  thank  you  for 
the  compliment;  but  I  fear  you  will  have  to  get  some 
one  else  to  play  my  part." 

Said  T-S:  "I  vant  you  to  tink,  Mr.  Carpenter,  vot  it 
vould  mean  if  you  had  a  tousand  dollars  every  week. 
You  could  feed  all  de  babies  of  de  strikers.  I  vouldn't 
care  vot  you  did — you  could  feed  my  own  strikers,  ven 
I  git  some  at  Eternal  City.  A  tousand  dollars  a  veek 
is  an  awful  pile  o'  money  to  have !" 

"I  know  that,  my  friend." 

"And  vot's  more,  I  pay  you  five  tousand  cash  on  de 
signin'  of  de  contract.  You  can  go  right  in  now  vit  dese 
strikers — maybe  you  could  beat  Prince's  vit  all  dat 
money!"  Then,  as  Carpenter  still  shook  his  head:  "I 
give  you  vun  more  raise,  my  friend — but  dat's  de  last, 
you  gotta  believe  me.  I  pay  you  fifteen  hunded  a  veek. 
I  aint  ever  paid  so  much  money  to  a  green  actor  in  my 
life  before,  and  I  don't  tink  anybody  else  in  de  business 
ever  did." 

But  still  Carpenter  shook  his  head! 

"Vould  you  mind  tellin'  me  vy,  Mr.  Carpenter?" 

"Not  at  all.  You  tell  me  that  I  may  quell  mobs  for 
you.  But  there  are  mobs  in  your  business  that  I  could 
not  quell." 


102  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

"Vot  mobs?" 

"Among  others,  yourself." 

"Me?" 

"Yes — you  are  a  mob ;  a  mob  of  money !  You  storm 
the  souls  of  men,  and  of  women  too.  It  will  take  a 
stronger  force  than  I  to  quell  you." 

"I  don't  git  you,"  said  T-S,  helplessly ;  but  then,  think- 
ing it  over  a  bit,  he  went  on :  "I  guess  I'm  a  vulgar  fel- 
ler, Mr.  Carpenter,  and  maybe  all  my  pictures  ain't  vot 
you  call  high-brow.  But  if  I  had  a  man  like  you  to  vork 
vit,  I  could  make  vot  you  call  real  educational  pictures. 
You're  vot  dey  call  a  prophet,  you  got  a  message  fer  de 
vorld;  veil,  vy  don't  you  let  me  spread  it  fer  you?  If 
you  use  my  machinery,  you  can  talk  to  a  billion  people. 
Dat's  no  joke — if  dey  is  dat  many  alive,  I  bring  'em  to 
you;  I  bring  de  Japs  and  de  Chinks  and  de  niggers — de 
vooly-headed  savages  vot  vould  eat  your  missionaries  if 
you  sent  'em.  I  offer  you  de  whole  vorld,  Mr.  Carpenter ; 
and  you  vould  be  de  boss !" 

Carpenter  became  suddenly  grave.  "My  friend,"  said 
he,  "a  long  time  ago  there  was  a  prophet,  and  he  was 
offered  the  world.  The  story  is  told  us — 'Again,  the 
devil  taketh  him  up  into  an  exceeding  high  mountain, 
and  sheweth  him  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  world,  and  the 
glory  of  them ;  and  saith  unto  him,  All  these  things  will  I 
give  thee,  if  thou  wilt  fall  down  and  worship  me/  You 
recall  that  story,  Mr.  T-S?" 

"No,"  said  T-S,  "I  ain't  vun  o'  dese  litry  fellers."  But 
he  realized  that  the  story  was  not  complimentary  to  him, 
and  he  showed  his  chagrin.  "I  tell  you  vun  ting,  Mr. 
Carpenter,  if  you  vas  to  know  me  better,  you  vouldn't 
£all  me  a  devil." 

And  suddenly  the  other  put  his  hand  on  the  great 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

man's  shoulder.  "I  believe  that,  my  friend;  I  hate  the 
sin  but  love  the  sinner.  And  so,  suppose  you  come  to 
lunch  with  me?" 

"Lunch?"  said  T-S,  taken  aback. 

"I  went  to  dinner  with  you  last  night.  Now  you  come 
to  lunch  with  me." 

"Vere  at,  Mr.  Carpenter?" 

Said  Carpenter:  "When  I  went  with  you,  I  did  not 
ask  where." 

Carpenter  signed  to  me  and  to  Everett,  the  secretary, 
and  the  four  of  us  went  out  of  the  room.  I  was  as  much 
mystified  as  the  picture  magnate,  but  I  held  my  peace, 
and  Carpenter  led  us  to  the  elevator,  and  down  to  the 
street.  "No,"  said  he,  to  T-S,  "there  is  no  need  to  get 
into  your  car.  The  place  is  just  around  the  corner."  And 
he  put  his  arm  in  that  of  the  magnate,  and  led  him 
down  the  street — somewhat  to  the  embarrassment  of  his 
victim,  for  there  was  a  crowd  following  us.  People  had 
read  the  afternoon  papers  by  now,  and  it  was  no  longer 
possible  to  walk  along  unheeded,  with  a  prophet  only 
twenty-four  hours  from  God,  who  healed  the  sick  and 
quelled  mobs  before  breakfast.  But  T-S  set  his  teeth 
and  bore  it — hoping  this  might  be  the  way  to  land  his 
contract. 


XXX 

We  turned  the  corner,  and  soon  I  saw  what  was 
before  us,  and  almost  cried  out  with  glee.  It  was  really 
too  good  to  be  true!  Carpenter,  in  the  course  of  his 
talks  with  strikers,  had  learned  where  their  soup-kitchen 
was  located,  the  relief-headquarters  where  their  families 
were  being  fed ;  and  he  now  had  the  sublime  audacity  to 
take  the  picture  magnate  to  lunch  among  them! 

The  place  was  an  empty  warehouse,  fitted  with  long 
tables,  and  benches  made  of  planks  that  were  old  and 
full  of  splinters.  Here  in  rows  of  twenty  or  thirty  were 
seated  men  and  women  and  children,  mixed  together; 
before  each  one  a  bowl  of  not  very  thick  soup,  and  a 
hunk  of  bread,  and  a  tin  cup  full  of  hot  brown  liquid, 
politely  taken  for  coffee.  It  was  a  meal  which  would 
have  been  spurned  by  any  of  the  "studio  bums"  of  T-S's 
mob-scenes ;  but  now  T-S  was  going  to  be  a  good  sport, 
and  sit  on  a  splintery  plank  and  eat  it! 

Nor  was  that  all.  As  we  pushed  our  way  into  the 
place,  Carpenter  turned  to  the  magnate,  and  without  a 
trace  of  embarrassment,  said:  "You  understand,  Mr. 
T-S,  I  have  no  money.  But  we  must  pay — " 

"Oh,  sure!"  said  T-S,  quickly.    "I'll  pay!" 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  other;  and  he  turned  to  an  of- 
ficial of  the  union  with  whom  he  had  got  acquainted  in 
the  course  of  the  morning.  He  introduced  us  all,  not 
forgetting  the  secretary,  and  then  said :  "Mr.  T-S  is  the 
moving  picture  producer,  and  wants  to  have  lunch  with 
you,  if  you  will  consent." 

"Oh,  sure!"  said  the  official,  cordially, 

104 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  105 

"He  will  pay  for  it,"  added  Carpenter.  "He  has 
brought  along  a  thousand  dollars  for  that  purpose." 

T-S  started  as  if  some  one  had  struck  him;  and  the 
official  started  too.  "What?" 

"He  will  pay  a  thousand  dollars,"  declared  Carpenter. 
"It  is  a  fact,  and  you  may  tell  the  people,  if  you  wish." 

"My  Gawd,  no !"  cried  T-S  wildly. 

But  the  official  did  not  heed  him.  He  faced  the  crowd 
and  stretched  out  his  arms.  "Boys !  Boys !  This  is  Mr. 
T-S,  the  picture  producer,  and  he's  come  to  lunch  with 
us,  and  he's  going  to  pay  a  thousand  dollars  for  it!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  amazed  silence,  then  a  roar 
from  the  Company.  Men  leaped  to  their  feet  and  yelled. 
And  there  stood  poor  T-S — not  enjoying  the  ovation! 

"Give  it  to  them,"  whispered  Carpenter ;  and  the  mag-> 
nate,  thus  held  up,  took  out  the  roll  of  bills,  and  turned 
it  over  to  the  trembling  official,  who  leaped  onto  a  chair 
and  waved  the  miracle  before  the  crowd.  "A  thousand 
dollars!  A  thousand  dollars!"  He  counted  it  over  be- 
fore their  eyes  and  called,  louder  than  ever,  "A  thousand 
dollars!" 

Carpenter,  followed  by  T-S  and  the  secretary  and  my- 
self, went  down  the  line  of  tables,  shaking  hands  with 
many  on  the  way,  and  being  patted  on  the  back  by 
others.  Also  T-S  shook  hands,  and  was  patted.  Seats 
were  found  for  us,  and  food  was  brought — double  por- 
tions of  it,  as  if  to  make  the  plight  of  the  poor  magnate 
even  more  absurd!  I  watched  him  out  of  the  corner  of 
my  eye;  he  enjoyed  that  costly  meal  just  about  as  much 
as  Carpenter  had  enjoyed  the  one  at  Prince's  last  night! 

However,  he  was  game,  and  spilled  no  tears  into  his 
soup;  and  Carpenter  ate  with  honest  appetite,  having 
had  no  breakfast.  The  strikers  about  us  ate  as  if  they 


106  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

had  missed  both  breakfast  and  supper ;  they  laughed  and 
chatted  and  made  jokes  with  us — you  would  have 
thought  they  were  celebrating  the  winning  of  the  strike 
and  the  end  of  all  their  troubles.  In  the  midst  of  the  the 
meal  I  noted  two  well-dressed  young  men  by  the  door, 
asking  questions;  I  chuckled  to  myself,  seeing  more 
head-lines — double  ones,  and  extra  size: 

PROPHET  OF  GOD  VAMPS  MOVIE  KING 
MAGNATE  OF  SCREEN  PAYS  THOUSAND  FOR 

LUNCH 

But  I  knew  that  T-S  had  never  yet  paid  a  thousand 
dollars  without  getting  something  for  it,  and  I  was  not 
surprised  when,  after  he  had  gulped  down  his  meal,  he 
turned  to  his  host  and,  disregarding  the  company  and 
the  excitement,  demanded,  "Now,  Mr.  Carpenter,  tell 
me,  do  I  git  de  contract?" 

Carpenter  had  had  his  jest,  and  was  through  with  it. 
He  answered,  gravely:  "You  must  understand  me,  Mr. 
T-S.  You  don't  want  a  contract  with  me." 

"I  don't?" 

"If  I  were  to  sign  it,  it  would  not  be  a  week  before 
you  would  be  sorry,  and  would  be  asking  me  to  release 
you." 

"Vy  is  dat,  Mr.  Carpenter?" 

"Because  I  am  going  to  do  things  which  will  make 
me  quite  useless  to  you  in  a  business  way." 

"Dat  can't  be  true,  Mr.  Carpenter!" 

"It  is  true,  and  you  will  realize  it  soon.  I  assure  you, 
it  won't  be  a  day  before  you  will  be  ashamed  of  having 
known  me." 

T-S  was  gazing  at  the  speaker,  not  certain  whether 
this  was  something  very  terrible,  or  only  a  polite  eva- 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  107 

sion.  "Mr.  Carpenter,"  he  answered,  "if  all  de  vorld 
vas  to  give  you  up,  I  vouldn't  I" 

Said  Carpenter:  "I  tell  you,  before  the  cock  crows 
again,  you  will  deny  three  times  that  you  know  me."  And 
then,  without  awaiting  response  from  the  amazed  T-S, 
he  turned  to  speak  to  the  man  on  the  other  side  of  him. 

The  magnate  of  the  pictures  sat  silent,  evidently 
frightened.  At  last  he  turned  to  me  and  asked,  "Vot 
you  tink  he  meant  by  dat,  Billy?" 

I  answered:  "I  think  he  meant  that  you  are  to  play 
the  part  of  Peter." 

"Peter?    Peter  Pan?" 

"No;  St.  Peter,  who  denied  his  master." 

"Veil,"  said  T-S,  patiently,  "you  know,  I  ain't  vun  o' 
dese  litry  fellers." 

"I'll  tell  it  to  you  some  time,"  I  continued.  "It's  kind 
of  funny.  If  he's  right,  you  are  going  to  be  the  first  pope, 
and  sit  at  the  golden  gate,  holding  the  keys  of  heaven." 

"My  Gawd!"  said  T-S. 

"And  you've  made  a  record  in  the  movies."  I  added. 
"You've  played  Satan  and  St.  Peter,  both  on  the  same 
day!  That  is  'doubling'  with  a  vengeanjce!" 


XXXI 

When  I  got  back  to  the  Labor  Temple,  I  learned  that 
there  was  to  be  a  mass-meeting  of  the  strikers  this  Satur- 
day evening.  It  had  been  planned  some  days  ago,  and 
now  was  to  be  turned  into  a  protest  against  police  vio- 
lence and  "government  by  injunction."  There  was  a 
cheap  afternoon  paper  which  professed  sympathy  with 
the  workers,  and  this  published  a  manifesto,  signed  by 
a  number  of  labor  leaders,  summoning  their  followers 
to  make  clear  that  they  would  no  longer  submit  to  "Cos- 
sack rule." 

It  appeared  now  that  these  leaders  were  considering 
inviting  Carpenter  to  become  one  of  the  speakers  at  their 
meeting.  Two  of  them  came  up  to  me.  I  had  heard 
this  stranger  speak,  and  did  I  think  he  could  hold  an 
audience?  I  gave  assurance;  he  was  a  man  of  dignity, 
and  would  do  them  credit.  They  were  afraid  the  news- 
papers would  represent  him  as  a  freak,  but  of  course 
their  meeting  would  hardly  fare  very  well  in  the  papers 
anyhow.  One  of  them  asked,  cautiously,  how  much  of 
an  extremist  was  he  ?  Labor  leaders  were  having  a  hard 
time  these  days  to  hold  down  the  "reds,"  and  the  em- 
ployers were  not  giving  them  any  help.  Did  I  think 
Carpenter  would  support  the  "reds"?  I  answered  that 
I  didn't  know  the  labor  movement  well  enough  to  judge, 
but  one  thing  they  could  be  sure  of,  he  was  a  man  of 
peace,  and  would  not  preach  any  sort  of  violence. 

The  matter  was  settled  a  little  later,  when  Mary  Magna 
drove  up  to  the  Labor  Temple  in  her  big  limousine. 
Mary,  for  the  first  time  in  the  memory  of  anyone  who 

108 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  109 

knew  her,  was  without  her  war-paint;  dressed  like  a 
Quakeress — a  most  uncanny  phenomenon!  She  had  not 
a  single  jewel  on;  and  before  long  I  learned  why — she 
had  taken  all  she  owned  to  a  jeweler  that  morning,  and 
sold  them  for  something  over  six  thousand  dollars.  She 
brought  the  money  to  the  fund  for  the  babies  of  the 
strikers;  nor  did  she  ask  anyone  else  to  hand  it  in  for 
her.  It  was  Mary's  fashion  to  look  the  world  in  the 
eye  and  say  what  she  was  doing. 

T-S  was  still  hanging  about,  and  at  first  he  tried  to 
check  this  insane  extravagance,  but  then  he  thought  it 
over  and  grinned,  saying,  "I  git  my  tousand  dollars 
back  in  advertising!"  When  I  pointed  out  to  him  what 
would  be  the  interpretation  placed  by  newspaper  gossip 
on  Mary's  intervention  in  the  affairs  of  Carpenter,  he 
grinned  still  more  widely.  "Ain't  he  got  a  right  to  be 
in  love  vit  Mary?  All  de  vorld's  in  love  vit  Mary!" 
And  of  course,  there  was  a  newspaper  reporter  standing 
by  his  side,  so  that  this  remark  went  out  to  the  world 
as  semi-official  comment! 

You  understand  that  by  this  time  the  second  edition 
of  the  papers  was  on  the  streets,  and  it  was  known 
that  the  new  prophet  was  at  the  Labor  Temple.  Curi- 
osity seekers  came  filtering  in,  among  them  half  a  dozen 
more  reporters,  and  as  many  camera  men.  After  that, 
poor  Carpenter  <could  get  no  peace  at  all.  Would  he 
please  say  if  he  was  going  to  do  any  more  healing? 
Would  he  turn  a  little  more  to  the  light — just  one  second, 
thank  you.  Would  he  mind  making  a  group  with  Miss 
Magna  and  Mr.  T-S  and  the  "wealthy  young  scion"? 
Would  he  consent  to  step  outside  for  some  moving  pic- 
tures, before  the  light  got  too  dim?  It  was  a  new  kind 
of  mob — a  ravening  one,  making  all  dignity  and  thought 


110  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

impossible.  In  the  end  I  had  to  mount  guard  and  fight 
the  publicity-hounds  away.  Was  it  likely  this  man 
would  go  out  and  pose  for  cameras,  when  he  had  just 
refused  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  week  from  Mr.  T-S  to 
do  that  very  thing?  And  then  more  excitement!  Had 
he  really  refused  such  an  offer?  The  king  of  the  movies 
admitted  that  he  had! 

We  live  in  an  age  of  communication;  we  can  send  a 
bit  of  news  half  way  round  the  world  in  a  few  seconds, 
we  can  make  it  known  to  a  whole  city  in  a  few  hours. 
And  so  it  was  with  this  "prophet  fresh  from  God";  in 
spite  of  himself,  he  was  seized  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck 
and  flung  up  to  the  pinnacle  of  fame!  He  had  all  the 
marvels  of  a  lifetime  crowded  into  one  day — enough  to 
fill  a  whole  newspaper  with  headlines! 

And  the  end  was  not  yet.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
commotion  in  the  crowd,  and  a  man  pushed  his  way 
through — Korwsky,  the  secretary  of  the  tailor's  union, 
who,  learning  of  Carpenter's  miracles,  had  rushed  all 
the  way  home,  and  got  a  friend  with  a  delivery  wagon, 
and  brought  his  half-grown  son  post-haste.  He  bore 
him  now  in  his  arms,  and  poured  out  to  Carpenter  the 
pitiful  tale  of  his  paralyzed  limbs.  Such  a  gentle,  good 
child  he  was;  no  one  ever  heard  a  complaint;  but  he 
had  not  been  able  to  stand  up  for  five  years. 

So,  of  course,  Carpenter  put  his  hands  upon  the  child, 
and  closed  his  eyes  in  prayer;  and  suddenly  he  put  him 
down  to  the  ground  and  cried:  "Walk!"  The  lad  stared 
at  him,  for  one  wild  moment,  while  people  caught  their 
breath;  then,  with  a  little  choking  cry,  he  took  a  step. 
There  came  a  shout  from  the  spectators,  and  then — 
Bang! — a  puff  as  if  a  gun  had  gone  off,  and  a  flash  of 
light,  and  clouds  of  white  smoke  rolling  to  the  ceiling. 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

Women  screamed,  and  one  or  two  threatened  to  faint; 
but  it  was  nothing  more  dangerous  than  the  cameraman 
of  the  Independent  Press  Service,  who  had  hired  a  step- 
ladder,  and  got  it  set  up  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  ready 
for  any  climax !  A  fine  piece  of  stage  management,  said 
his  jealous  rivals;  others  in  the  crowd  were  sure  it  was 
a  put  up  job  between  Carpenter  and  Korwsky.  But  the 
labor  leaders  knew  the  little  tailor,  and  they  believed. 
After  that  there  was  no  doubt  about  Carpenter's  being 
a  speaker  at  the  mass-meeting! 


XXXII 

It  came  time  when  the  rest  of  us  were  ready  for  din- 
ner, but  Carpenter  said  that  he  wanted  to  pray.  Ap- 
parently, whenever  he  was  tired,  and  had  work  to  do, 
he  prayed.  He  told  me  that  he  would  find  his  own  way 
to  Grant  Hall,  the  place  of  the  mass-meeting;  but  some- 
how, I  didn't  like  the  idea  of  his  walking  through  the 
streets  alone.  I  said  I  would  call  for  him  at  seven-thirty, 
and  made  him  promise  not  to  leave  the  Labor  Temple 
until  that  hour. 

I  cast  about  in  my  mind  for  a  body-guard,  and  be- 
thought me  of  old  Joe.  His  name  is  Joseph  Camper, 
and  he  played  centre-rush  with  my  elder  brother  in  the 
days  before  they  opened  up  the  game,  and  when  beef  was 
what  counted.  Old  Joe  has  shoulders  like  the  biggest 
hams  in  a  butcher  shop,  and  you  can  trust  him  like  a 
Newfoundland  dog.  I  knew  that  if  I  asked  him  not  to 
let  anybody  hurt  my  friend,  he  wouldn't — and  this  re- 
gardless of  the  circumstance  of  my  friend's  not  wearing 
pants.  Old  Joe  knows  nothing  about  religion  or  so- 
ciology— only  wrestling  and  motor-cars,  and  the  price 
of  wholesale  stationery. 

So  I  phoned  him  to  meet  me,  and  we  had  dinner,  and 
at  seven-thirty  sharp  our  taxi  crew  drew  up  at  the  Labor 
Temple.  Half  a  minute  later,  who  should  come  walking 
down  the  street  but  Everett,  T-S's  secretary!  "I 
thought  I'd  take  the  liberty,"  he  said,  apologetically.  "I 
thought  Mr.  Carpenter  might  say  something  worth  while, 
and  you'd  be  glad  to  have  a  transcript  of  his  speech." 

"Why,  that's  very  kind  of  you/'  I  answered,  "I  didn't 
know  you  were  interested  in  him." 

112 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  113 

"Well,  I  didn't  know  it  myself,  but  I  seem  to  be ;  and 
besides,  he  told  me  to  follow  him." 

I  went  upstairs,  and  found  the  stranger  waiting  in 
the  room  where  I  had  left  him.  I  put  myself  on  one 
side  of  him,  and  the  ex-centre-rush  on  the  other,  with 
Everett  respectfully  bringing  up  the  rear,  and  so  we 
walked  to  Grant  Hall.  Many  people  stared  at  us,  and  a 
few  followed,  but  no  one  said  anything — and  thank  God, 
there  was  nothing  resembling  a  mob !  I  took  my 
prophet  to  the  stage  entrance  of  the  hall,  and  got  him 
into  the  wings ;  and  there  was  a  pathetically  earnest  lady 
waiting  to  give  him  a  tract  on  the  horrors  of  vivisection, 
and  an  old  gentleman  with  a  white  beard  and  palsied 
hands,  inviting  him  to  a  spiritualistic  seance.  Funniest 
of  all,  there  was  Aunt  Caroline's  prophet,  the  author  of 
the  "Eternal  Bible/'  with  his  white  robes  and  his  per- 
manent wave,  and  his  little  tribute  of  carrots  and  onions 
wrapped  in  a  newspaper.  I  decided  that  these  were 
Carpenter's  own  kind  of  troubles,  and  I  left  him  to  at- 
tend to  them,  and  strolled  out  to  have  a  look  at  the 
audience. 

The  hall  was  packed,  both  the  floor  and  the  galleries; 
there  must  have  been  three  thousand  people.  I  noted 
a  big  squad  of  police,  and  wondered  what  was  coming; 
for  in  these  days  you  can  never  tell  whether  any  public 
meeting  is  to  be  allowed  to  start,  and  still  less  if  it  is 
to  be  allowed  to  finish.  However,  the  crowd  was  orderly, 
the  only  disturber  being  some  kind  of  a  Socialist  trying 
to  sell  literature. 

I  saw  Mary  Magna  come  in,  with  Laura  Lee,  another 
picture  actress,  and  Mrs.  T-S.  They  found  seats;  and 
I  looked  for  the  magnate,  and  saw  him  talking  to  some 
one  near  the  door.  I  strolled  back  to  speak  to  him,  and 


114  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTEE 

recognized  the  other  man  as  Westerly,  secretary  of  the 
Merchants'  and  Manufacturers*  Association.  I  knew 
what  he  was  there  for — to  size  up  this  new  disturber  of 
the  city's  peace,  and  perhaps  to  give  the  police  their 
orders. 

It  was  not  my  wish  to  overhear  the  conversation,  but 
it  worked  out  that  way,  partly  because  it  is  hard  not 
to  overhear  T-S,  and  partly  because  I  stopped  in  sur- 
prise at  the  first  words:  "Good  Gawd,  Mr.  Vesterly, 
vy  should  I  vant  to  give  money  to  strikers?  Dat's 
nuttin'  but  fool  newspaper  talk.  I  vent  to  see  de  man,  be- 
cause Mary  Magna  told  me  he  vas  a  vunderful  type, 
and  I  said  I'd  pay  him  a  tousand  dollars  on  de  contract. 
You  know  vot  de  newspapers  do  vit  such  tings!" 

"Then  the  man  isn't  a  friend  of  yours  ?"  said  the  other. 

"My  Gawd,  do  I  make  friends  vit  every  feller  vot  I 
hire  because  he  looks  like  a  character  part?" 

At  this  point  there  came  up  Rankin,  one  of  T-S's  di- 
rectors. "Hello !"  said  he.  "I  thought  I'd  come  to  hear 
your  friend  the  prophet." 

"Friend?"  said  T-S.  "Who  told  you  he's  a  friend  o' 
mine?" 

"Why,  the  papers  said — " 

"Veil,  de  papers  're  nutty  1" 

And  then  came  one  of  the  strikers  who  had  been  in 
the  soup-kitchen — a  fresh  young  fellow,  proud  to  know 
a  great  man.  "How  dy'do,  Mr.  T-S?  I  hear  our  friend, 
Mr.  Carpenter,  is  going — " 

"Cut  out  dis  friend  stuff!"  cried  T-S,  irritably.  "He 
may  be  yours — he  ain't  mine !" 

I  strolled  up.    "Hello,  T-S!"  I  said. 

"Oh,  Billy!    Hello!" 

"So  you've  denied  him  three  times!" 


THEY  CALL  ME  CABPENTEB  115 

"Votyou  mean?" 

"Three  times — and  the  cock  hasn't  crowed  yet !  That 
man's  a  prophet  for  sure,  T-S !" 

The  magnate  pretended  not  to  understand,  but  the 
deep  flush  on  his  features  gave  him  away. 

"How  dy'do,  Mr.  Westerly,"  I  said.  "What  do  you 
think  of  Mr.  T-S  in  the  role  of  the  first  pope?" 

"You  mean  he's  going  to  act?"  inquired  the  other, 
puzzled. 

"Come  off!"  exclaimed  Rankin,  who  knew  better,  of 
course. 

"He's  going  to  be  St.  Peter,"  I  insisted,  "and  hold  the 
keys  to  the  golden  gate.  He's  planning  a  religious  play, 
you  know,  for  this  fellow  Carpenter.  Maybe  he  might 
cast  Mr.  Westerly  for  a  part — say  Pontius  Pilate." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha !"  said  the  secretary  of  our  "M.  and  M." 
"Pretty  good!  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Gimme  a  chance  at  these 
bunk-shooters— I'll  shut  'em  up,  you  bet!" 


XXXIII 

The  chairman  of  the  meeting  was  a  man  named  Brown, 
the  president  of  the  city's  labor  council.  He  was  cer- 
tainly respectable  enough,  prosy  and  solemn.  But  he 
was  deeply  moved  on  this  question  of  clubbing  strikers' 
heads;  and  you  could  see  that  the  crowd  was  only  wait- 
ing for  a  chance  to  shout  its  indignation.  The  chairman 
introduced  the  president  of  the  Restaurant  Workers,  a 
solid  citizen  whom  you  would  have  taken  for  a  suc- 
cessful grocer.  He  told  about  what  had  happened  last 
night  at  Prince's;  and  then  he  told  about  the  causes  of 
the  strike,  and  the  things  that  go  on  behind  the  scenes 
in  big  restaurants.  I  had  been  to  Prince's  many  times 
in  my  life,  but  I  had  never  been  behind  the  scenes,  nor 
had  I  ever  before  been  to  a  labor-meeting.  I  must  admit 
that  I  was  startled.  The  things  they  put  into  the 
hashes !  And  the  distressing  habit  of  unorganized  wait- 
ers, when  robbed  of  their  tips  or  otherwise  ill-treated,  to 
take  it  out  by  spitting  into  the  soup ! 

A  couple  of  other  labor  men  spoke,  and  then  came 
James,  the  carpenter  with  a  religious  streak.  He  had  a 
harsh,  rasping  voice,  and  a  way  of  poking  a  long  bony 
finger  at  the  people  he  was  impressing.  He  was  desper- 
ately in  earnest,  and  it  caused  him  to  swallow  a  great 
deal,  and  each  time  his  Adam's  apple  would  jump  up. 
"I'm  going  to  read  you  a  newspaper  clipping,"  he  began ; 
and  I  thought  it  was  Judge  Wollcott's  injunction  again, 
but  it  was  a  story  about  one  of  our  social  leaders,  Mrs. 
Alinson  Pakenham,  who  has  four  famous  Pekinese 
spaniels,  worth  six  thousand  dollars  each,  and  weighing 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

only  eight  ounces — or  is  it  eighty  ounces  ? — I'm  not  sure, 
for  I  never  was  trusted  to  lift  one  of  the  wretched  little 
brutes.  Anyhow,  their  names  are  Fe,  Fi,  Fo,  and  Fum, 
and  they  have  each  their  own  attendant,  and  the  four 
have  a  private  limousine  in  which  to  travel,  and  they 
dine  off  a  service  of  gold  plate.  And  here  were  hun- 
dreds of  starving  strikers,  with  their  wives,  also  starv- 
ing; and  a  couple  of  thousand  other  workers  in  factories 
and  on  ranches  who  were  in  process  of  having  their 
wages  "deflated."  The  orator  quoted  a  speech  of  Alger- 
non de  Wiggs  before  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  de- 
claring that  the  restoration  of  prosperity,  especially  in 
agriculture,  depended  upon  "deflation,"  and  this  alone; 
and  suddenly  James,  the  .carpenter  with  a  religious 
streak,  launched  forth: 

"Go  to  now,  you  rich  men,  weep  and  howl  for  your 
miseries  that  are  coming  upon  you!  Your  riches  are 
corrupted,  and  your  garments  are  moth-eaten!  Your 
gold  and  silver  is  cankered;  and  the  rust  on  it  shall  be 
a  witness  against  you,  and  shall  eat  your  flesh  as  if  it 
were  fire.  You  have  heaped  treasure  together  for  the 
last  days.  Behold  the  hire  of  the  laborers,  who  have 
reaped  your  fields;  you  have  kept  it  back  by  fraud,  and 
the  cries  of  the  reapers  have  entered  into  the  ears  of  the 
Lord!  You  have  lived  in  pleasure  on  the  earth,  and  been 
wanton ;  you  have  nourished  your  hearts,  as  in  a  day  of 
slaughter.  You  have  condemned  and  killed  the  just — " 

At  this  point  in  the  tirade,  my  old  friend  the  ex-centre- 
rush,  who  was  standing  in  the  wings  with  me,  turned  and 
whispered :  "For  God's  sake,  Billy,  what  kind  of  a  God- 
damn Bolshevik  stunt  is  this,  anyhow?" 

I  answered :  "Hush,  you  dub  I  He's  quoting  from  the 
Bible!" 


XXXIV 

President  Brown  of  the  Western  City  Labor  Council 
arose  to  perform  his  next  duty  as  chairman.  Said  he: 

"The  next  speaker  is  a  stranger  to  most  of  you,  and 
he  is  also  a  stranger  to  me.  I  do  not  know  what  his 
doctrine  is,  and  I  assume  no  responsibility  for  it.  But 
he  is  a  man  who  has  proven  his  friendship  for  labor,  not 
by  words,  but  by  very  unusual  deeds.  He  is  a  man  of 
remarkable  personality,  and  we  have  asked  him  to  make 
what  suggestions  he  can  as  to  our  problems.  I  have 
pleasure  in  introducing  Mr.  Carpenter." 

Whereupon  the  prophet  fresh  from  God  arose  from 
his  chair,  and  come  slowly  to  the  front  of  the  platform. 
There  was  no  applause,  but  a  silence  made  part  of  curi- 
osity and  part  of  amazement.  His  figure,  standing  thus 
apart,  was  majestic;  and  I  noted  a  curious  thing — a  shin- 
ing as  of  light  about  his  head.  It  was  so  clear  and  so 
beautiful  that  I  whispered  to  Old  Joe :  "Do  you  see  that 
halo?" 

"Go  on/  Billy!"  said  the  ex-centre-rush.  "You're 
getting  nutty !" 

"But  it's  plain  as  day,  man !" 

I  felt  some  one  touch  my  arm,  and  saw  the  little  lady 
of  the  anti-vivisection  tracts  peering  past  me.  "Do  you 
see  his  aura?"  she  whispered,  excitedly. 

"Is  that  what  it  is?" 

"Yes.     It's  purple.    That  denotes  spirituality." 

I  thought  to  myself,  "Good  Lord,  am  I  getting  to  be 
that  sort?" 

Carpenter  began  to  speak,  quietly,  in  his  grave,  meas- 

118 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  H9 

ured  voice.  "My  brothers!"  He  waited  for  some  time, 
as  if  that  were  enough;  as  if  all  the  problems  of  life 
would  be  solved,  if  only  men  would  understand  those 
two  words.  "My  brothers:  I  am,  as  your  chairman 
says,  a  stranger  to  this  world  of  yours.  I  do  not  under- 
stand your  vast  machines  and  your  complex  arts.  But 
I  know  the  souls  of  men  and  women;  when  I  meet 
greed,  and  pride,  and  cruelty,  the  enslavements  of  the 
flesh,  they  Cannot  lie  to  me.  And  I  have  walked  about 
the  streets  of  your  city,  and  I  know  myself  in  the 
presence  of  a  people  wandering  in  a  wilderness.  My 
children ! — broken-hearted,  desolate,  and  betrayed — poor- 
est when  you  are  rich,  loneliest  when  you  throng 
together,  proudest  when  you  are  most  ignorant — my 
people,  I  call  you  into  the  way  of  salvation  1" 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  to  them,  and  on  his  face 
and  in  his  whole  look  was  such  anguish,  that  I  think 
there  was  no  man  in  that  whole  great  throng  so  rooted 
in  self-esteem  that  he  was  not  shaken  with  sudden  awe. 
The  prophet  raised  his  hands  in  invocation:  "Let  us 
pray!"  He  bowed  his  head,  and  many  in  the  audience 
did  the  same.  Others  stared  at  him  in  bewilderment, 
having  long  ago  forgotten  how  to  pray.  Here  and 
there  some  one  snickered. 

"Oh,  God,  Our  Father,  we,  Thy  lost  children,  return 
to  Thee,  the  Giver  of  Life.  We  bring  our  follies  and 
our  greeds,  and  cast  them  at  Thy  feet.  We  do  not  like 
the  life  we  have  lived.  We  wish  to  be  those  things 
which  for  long  ages  we  have  dreamed  in  vain.  Wilt 
Thou  show  the  way?" 

His  hands  sank  to  his  sides,  and  he  raised  his  head. 
"Such  is  the  prayer.  What  is  the  answer?  It  has  been 
made  known :  Ask,  and  it  shall  be  given  you ;  seek,  and 


120  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

ye  shall  find;  knock,  and  it  shall  be  opened  unto  you. 
For  everyone  that  asketh  receiveth ;  and  he  that  seeketh 
findeth;  and  to  him  that  knotketh  it  shall  be  opened. — 
These  are  ancient  words,  by  many  forgotten.  What  do 
they  mean?  They  mean  that  we  are  children  of  our 
Father,  and  not  slaves  of  earthly  masters.  Would  a 
man  make  a  slave  of  his  own  child?  And  shall  man  be 
more  righteous  than  his  Creator? 

"My  brothers :  You  are  hungry,  and  in  need,  and  your 
children  cry  for  bread;  do  I  bid  you  feed  them  upon 
words?  Not  so;  but  the  life  of  men  is  made  by  the  will 
of  men,  and  that  which  exists  in  steel  and  stone  existed 
first  in  thought.  If  your  thought  is  mean  and  base,  your 
world  is  a  place  of  torment ;  if  your  thought  is  true  and 
generous,  your  world  is  free. 

"There  was  once  a  man  who  owned  much  land,  and 
upon  it  he  built  great  factories,  and  many  thousand  men 
toiled  for  him,  and  he  grew  fat  upon  the  product  of  their 
labor,  and  his  heart  was  high.  And  it  came  to  pass  that' 
his  workers  rebelled;  and  he  hired  others,  and  they  shot 
down  the  workers,  so  that  the  rest  returned  to  their 
labor.  And  the  master  said:  The  world  is  mine,  and 
none  can  oppose  me.  But  one  day  there  arose  among  the 
workers  a  man  who  laughed.  And  his  laughter  spread, 
until  all  the  thousands  were  laughing ;  they  said,  We  are 
laughing  at  the  thought  that  we  should  work  and  you 
take  the  fruit  of  our  labor.  He  ordered  his  troops  to 
shoot  them,  but  his  troops  were  also  laughing,  and  he 
could  not  withstand  the  laughter  of  so  many  men;  he 
laughed  also,  and  said,  let  us  end  this  foolish  thing. 

"Is  there  a  man  among  you  who  can  say,  I  am  worthy 
of  freedom?  That  man  shall  save  the  world.  And  I 
say  to  you:  Make  ready  your  hearts  for  brotherhood; 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  121 

for  the  hour  draws  near,  and  it  is  a  shameful  thing  when 
man  is  not  worthy  of  his  destiny.  A  man  may  serve 
with  his  body,  and  yet  be  free,  but  he  that  is  a  slave  in 
his  soul  admires  the  symbols  of  mastery,  and  lusts  after 
its  fruits. 

"What  are  the  fruits  of  mastery?  They  are  pride  and 
pomp,  they  are  luxury  and  wantoness  and  the  shows  of 
power.  And  who  is  there  among  you  that  can  say  to 
himself,  these  things  have  no  roots  in  my  heart?  That 
man  is  great,  and  the  deliverance  of  the  world  is  the  a£t 
of  his  will." 


XXXV 

The  speaker  paused,  and  turned;  his  gaze  swept  the 
platform,  and  those  seated  on  it.  Said  he :  "You  are  the 
representatives  of  organized  labor.  I  do  not  know  your 
organization,  therefore  I  ask:  For  what  are  you  united? 
Is  it  to  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  your  masters,  and  bind 
others  as  they  have  bound  you?" 

He  waited  for  an  answer,  and  the  chairman,  upon 
whom  his  gaze  was  fixed,  cried,  "No!"  Others  also 
cried,  "No!"  and  the  audience  took  it  up  with  fervor. 
Carpenter  turned  to  them.  "Then  I  say  to  you:  Break 
down  in  your  hearts  and  in  the  hearts  of  your  fellows 
the  worship  of  those  base  things  which  mastership  has 
brought  into  the  world.  If  a  man  pile  up  food  while 
others  starve,  is  not  this  evil?  If  a  woman  deck  herself 
with  clothing  to  her  own  discomfort,  is  not  this  folly? 
And  if  it  be  folly,  how  shall  it  be  admired  by  you,  to 
whom  it  brings  starvation  and  despair? 

"Before  me  sit  young  women  of  the  working  class. 
Say  to  yourselves:  I  tear  from  my  fingers  the  jewels 
which  are  the  blood  and  tears  of  my  fellow-men ;  I  wash 
the  paint  from  my  face,  and  from  my  head  and  my  bosom 
I  take  the  silly  feathers  and  ribbons.  I  dare  to  be  what 
I  am.  I  dare  to  speak  truth  in  a  world  of  lies.  I  dare 
to  deal  honestly  with  men  and  women. 

"Before  me  sit  young  men  of  the  working-class.  I 
say  to  you:  Love  honest  women.  Do  not  love  harlots, 
nor  imitations  of  harlots.  Do  not  admire  the  idle  women 
of  the  ruling  class,  nor  those  who  ape  them,  and  thereby 
glorify  them.  Do  not  admire  languid  limbs  and  pouting 

123 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  123 

lips  and  the  signs  of  haughtiness  and  vanity,  your  own 
enslavements. 

"A  tree  is  known  by  the  fruit  it  gives;  and  the  masters 
are  known  by  the  lives  they  give  to  their  servants.  They 
are  known  by  misery  and  unemployment,  by  plague  and 
famine,  by  wars,  and  the  slaughter  of  the  people.  Let 
judgment  be  pronounced  upon  them ! 

"You  have  heard  it  said:  Each  for  himself,  and  the 
devil  take  the  hindmost.  But  I  say  to  you:  Each  for 
all,  and  the  hindmost  is  your  [charge.  I  say  to  you :  If 
a  man  will  not  work,  let  him  be  the  one  that  hungers; 
if  he  will  not  serve,  let  him  be  your  criminal.  For  if  one 
man  be  idle,  another  man  has  been  robbed;  and  if  any 
man  make  display  of  wealth,  that  man  has  the  flesh  of 
his  brothers  in  his  stomach.  Verily,  he  that  lives  at 
ease  while  others  starve  has  blood-guilt  upon  him;  and 
he  that  despises  his  fellows  has  committed  the  sin  for 
which  there  is  no  pardon.  He  that  lives  for  his  own 
glory  is  a  wolf,  and  vengeance  will  hunt  him  down ;  but 
he  that  loves  justice  and  mercy,  and  labors  for  these 
things,  dwells  in  the  bosom  of  my  Father. 

"Do  not  think  that  I  am  come  to  bring  you  ease  and 
comfort ;  I  am  come  to  bring  strife  and  discontent  to  this 
world.  For  the  time  of  martyrdom  draws  near,  and  from 
your  Father  alone  can  you  draw  the  strength  to  endure 
your  trials.  You  are  hungry,  but  you  will  be  starved; 
you  are  prisoned  in  mills  and  mines,  but  you  will  be 
walled  up  in  dungeons;  you  are  beaten  with  whips,  but 
you  will  be  beaten  with  clubs,  your  flesh  will  be  torn  by 
bullets,  your  skin  will  be  burned  with  fire  and  your  lungs 
poisoned  with  deadly  gases — such  is  the  dominion  of 
this  world.  But  I  say  to  you,  resist  in  your  hearts,  and 
none  can  conquer  ycra,  for  in  the  hearts  of  men  lies 


124  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

the  past  and  the  future,  and  there  is  no  power  but  love. 

"You  say :  The  world  is  evil,  and  men  are  base ;  why 
should  I  die  for  them?  Oh,  ye  of  little  faith,  how  many 
have  died  for  you,  and  would  you  cheat  mankind?  If 
there  is  to  be  goodness  in  the  world,  some  one  must 
begin;  who  will  begin  with  me? 

"My  brothers:  I  am  tome  to  lead  you  into  the  way 
of  justice.  I  bid  you  follow;  not  in  passion  and  blind 
excitement,  but  as  men  firm  in  heart  and  bent  upon 
service.  For  the  way  of  self-love  is  easy,  while  the  way 
of  justice  is  hard.  But  some  will  follow,  and  their  num- 
bers will  grow ;  for  the-  lives  of  men  have  grown  ill 
beyond  enduring,  and  there  must  be  a  new  birth  of  the 
spirit.  Think  upon  my  message;  I  shall  speak  to  you 
again,  and  the  compulsion  of  my  law  will  rest  upon  you. 
The  powers  of  this  world  come  to  an  end,  but  the  power 
of  good  will  is  everlasting,  and  the  body  can  sooner 
escape  from  its  own  shadow  than  mankind  can  escape 
from  brotherhood." 

He  ceased,  and  a  strange  thing  happened.  Half  the 
crowd  rose  to  its  feet;  and  they  cried,  "Go,  on!"  Twice 
he  tried  to  retire  to  his  seat,  but  they  cried,  "Go  on,  go 
on!"  Said  he,  "My  brothers,  this  is  not  my  meeting, 
there  are  other  speakers — "  But  they  cried,  "We  want 
to  hear  you !"  He  answered,  "You  have  your  policies  to 
decide,  and  your  leaders  must  have  their  say.  But  I 
will  speak  to  you  again  to-morrow.  I  am  told  that  your 
city  permits  street  speaking  on  Western  City  Street  on 
Sundays.  In  the  morning  I  am  going  to  church,  to  see 
how  they  worship  my  Father  in  this  city  of  many  mobs ; 
but  at  noon  I  will  hold  a  meeting  on  the  corner  of  Fifth 
and  Western  City  Streets,  and  if  you  wish,  you  may  hear 
me.  Now  I  ask  you  to  excuse  me,  for  I  am  weary."  He 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  125 

stood  for  a  moment,  and  I  saw  that,  although  he  had 
never  raised  his  voice  nor  made  a  violent  gesture,  his 
eyes  were  dark  and  hollow  with  fatigue,  and  drops  of 
sweat  stood  upon  his  forehead. 

He  turned  and  left  the  platform,  and  Old  Joe  and  I 
hurried  around  to  join  him.  We  found  him  with  Korw- 
sky,  the  little  Russian  tailor  whose  son  he  had  healed. 
Korwsky  claimed  him  to  spend  the  night  at  his  home; 
the  friend  with  the  delivery  wagon  was  on  hand,  and  they 
were  ready  to  start.  I  asked  Carpenter  to  what  church 
he  was  going  in  the  morning,  and  he  startled  me  by  the 
reply,  "St.  Bartholomew's."  I  promised  that  I  would 
surely  be  on  hand,  and  then  Old  Joe  and  I  set  out  to 
walk  home. 

"Well?"  said  I.    "What  do  you  think  of  him?" 

The  ex-centre-rush  walked  for  a  bit  before  he  an- 
swered. "You  know,  Billy  boy,"  said  he,  "we  do  lead 
rotten  useless  lives." 

"Good  Lord!"  I  thought;  it  was  the  first  sign  of  a 
soul  I  had  ever  noted  in  Old  Joe!  "Why,"  I  argued, 
"you  sell  paper,  and  that's  useful,  isn't  it?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  it  is  or  not.  Look  at  what's 
printed  on  it — mostly  advertisements  and  bunk."  And 
again  we  walked  for  a  bit.  "By  the  way,"  said  the  ex- 
centre-rush,  "before  he  got  through,  I  saw  that  aura, 
or  whatever  you  call  it.  I  guess  I'm  getting  nutty,  too !" 


XXXVI 

The  first  thing  I  did  on  Sunday  morning  was  to  pick 
up  the  "Western  City  Times,"  to  see  what  it  had  done 
to  Carpenter.  I  found  that  he  had  achieved  the  front 
page,  triple  column,  with  streamer  head  all  the  way 
across  the  page: 

PROPHET  IN  TOWN,  HEALS  SICK,  RAVES  AT 

RICH 

AMERICA    IS    MOBLAND,    ALLEGED    IN    RED 
RIOT  OF  TALK 

There  followed  a  half  page  story  about  Carpenter's 
strenuous  day  in  Western  City,  beginning  with  a  "Bol- 
shevik stump  speech"  to  a  mob  of  striking  tailors.  It 
appears  that  the  prophet  had  gone  to  the  Hebrew  quarter 
of  the  city,  and  finding  a  woman  railing  at  a  butcher  be- 
cause of  "alleged  extortion,"  had  begun  a  speech,  inciting 
a  mob,  so  that  the  police  reserves  had  to  be  called  out, 
and  a  riot  was  narrowly  averted.  From  there  the  prophet 
had  gone  to  the  Labor  Temple,  announcing  himself  to 
the  reporters  as  "fresh  from  God,"  with  a  message  to 
"Mobland,"  his  name  for  what  he  prophesied  America 
would  be  under  his  rule.  He  had  then  healed  a  sick  boy, 
the  performance  being  carefully  staged  in  front  of  moving 
picture  cameras.  The  account  of  the  "Times"  did  not 
directly  charge  that  the  performance  was  a  "movie 
stunt,"  but  it  described  it  in  a  mocking  way  which  made 
it  obviously  that.  The  paper  mentioned  T-S  in  such  a 
way  as  to  indicate  him  as  the  originator  of  the  scheme, 
and  it  had  fun  with  Mary  Magna,  pawning  her  paste 

126 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTEB  127 

jewels.  It  published  the  flash-light  picture,  and  also  a 
picture  of  Carpenter  walking  down  the  street,  trailed 
by  his  mob. 

In  another  column  was  the  climax,  the  "red  riot  of 
talk"  at  Grant  Hall.  James,  the  striking  carpenter,  had 
indulged  in  virulent  and  semi-insane  abuse  of  the  rich; 
after  which  the  new  prophet  had  stirred  the  mob  to 
worse  frenzies.  The  "Times"  quoted  sample  sentences, 
such  as:  "Do  not  think  that  I  am  come  to  bring  you 
ease  and  comfort ;  I  am  come  to  bring  strife  and  disorder 
to  this  world." 

I  turned  to  the  editorial  page,  and  there  was  a  double- 
column  leader,  made  extra  impressive  by  leads.  "AN" 
INFAMOUS  BLASPHEMY,"  was  the  heading.  Per- 
haps you  have  a  "Times"  in  your  own  city;  if  so,  you 
will  no  doubt  recognize  the  standard  style: 

"For  many  years  this  newspaper  has  been  pointing 
out  to  the  people  of  Western  City  the  accumulating  evi- 
dence that  the  men  who  manipulate  the  forces  of  organ- 
ized labor  are  Anarchists  at  heart,  plotting  to  let  loose 
the  torch  of  red  revolution  over  this  fair  land.  We  have 
clearly  showed  their  nefarious  purpose  to  overthrow  the 
Statue  of  Liberty  and  set  up  in  its  place  the  Dictatorship 
of  the  Walking  Delegate.  But,  evil  as  we  thought  them, 
we  were  naive  enough  to  give  them  credit  for  an  ele- 
mental sense  of  decency.  Even  though  they  had  no  re- 
spect for  the  works  of  man,  we  thought  at  least  they 
would  spare  the  works  of  God,  the  most  sacred  symbols 
of  divine  revelation  to  suffering  humanity.  But  yester- 
day there  occurred  in  this  city  a  performance  which  for 
shameless  insolence  and  blasphemous  perversion  ex- 
ceeds anything  but  the  wildest  flight  of  a  devil's  imagi- 
nation, and  reveals  the  bosses  of  the  Labor  Trust  as 


128  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

wanton  defilers  of  everything  that  decent  people  hold 
precious  and  holy. 

"What  was  the  spectacle?  A  moving  picture  pro- 
ducer, moved  by  blind,  and  we  trust  unthinking  lust  for 
gain,  produces  in  our  midst  an  alleged  'prophet/  dressed 
in  a  costume  elaborately  contrived  to  imitate  and  sug- 
gest a  Sacred  Presence  which  our  respect  for  religion 
forbids  us  to  name;  he  brings  this  vile,  perverted  crea- 
ture forward,  announcing  himself  to  the  newspapers  as 
'fresh  from  God,"  and  mouthing  phrases  of  social  greed 
and  jealousy  with  which  for  the  past  few  years  the 
Hun-agents  and  Hun-lovers  in  our  midst  have  made  us 
only  too  sickenly  familiar.  This  monstrous  parody  of 
divine  compassion  is  escorted  to  that  headquarters  of 
Pro-Germanism  and  red  revolution,  the  Labor  Temple, 
and  there  performs,  in  the  presence  of  moving  picture 
cameras,  a  grotesque  parody  upon  the  laying  on  of 
hands  and  the  healing  of  the  sick.  The  'Times'  presents 
a  photograph  of  this  incredible  infamy.  We  apologize  to 
our  readers  for  thus  aiding  the  designs  of  cunning  pub- 
licity-seekers, but  there  is  no  other  way  to  make  clear 
to  the  public  the  gross  affront  to  decency  which  has  been 
perpetrated,  and  the  further  affronts  which  are  being 
planned.  This  appears  to  be  a  scheme  for  making  a 
moving  picture  'star';  this  'Carpenter' — note  the  silly 
pun — is  to  become  the  latest  sensation  in  million  dollar 
movie  dolls,  and  the  American  public  is  to  be  invited  to 
pay  money  to  witness  a  story  of  sacred  things  played 
by  a  real  'prophet'  and  worker  of  'miracles'!" 

"But  the  worst  has  yet  to  be  told.  The  masters  of  the 
Labor  Trust,  not  to  be  outdone  in  bidding  for  unholy 
notoriety,  had  the  insolence  to  invite  this  blasphemous 
charlatan  to  their  riot  of  revolutionary  ranting  called  a 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  129 

'protest  meeting/  He  and  other  creatures  of  his  ilk,  sum- 
moning the  forces  which  are  organizing  red  ruin  in  our 
city,  proceed  to  rave  at  the  police  and  the  courts  for 
denying  to  mobs  of  strikers  the  right  to  throw  brickbats 
at  honest  workers  looking  for  jobs,  and  to  hold  the  pistol 
of  the  boycott  at  the  heads  of  employers  who  dare  to 
stand  for  American  liberty  and  democracy!  We  have 
heard  much  mouthing  of  class  venom  and  hate  in  this 
community,  but  never  have  our  ears  been  affronted  by 
anything  so  unpardonable  as  this  disguising  of  the  doc- 
trine of  Lenin  and  Trotsky  in  the  robes  of  Christian 
revelation.  This  'prophet  fresh  from  God/  as  he  styles 
himself,  is  a  man  of  peace  and  brotherly  love — oh,  yes, 
of  course!  We  know  these  wolves  in  sheeps'  clothing, 
these  pacifists  and  lovers  of  man  with  the  gold  of  the 
Red  International  in  their  pockets,  and  slavering  from 
their  tongues  the  fine  phrases  of  idealism  which  Con- 
veniently protect  them  from  the  strong  hand  of  the  law ! 
We  have  seen  their  bloody  work  for  four  years  in  Russia, 
and  we  tell  them  that  if  they  expect  to  prepare  the  con- 
fiscation of  property  and  the  nationalization  of  women 
in  this  country  while  disguising  themselves  in  moving 
picture  imitations  of  religion,  they  are  grossly  under- 
estimating the  intelligence  of  the  red-blooded  citizens 
of  this  great  republic.  We  shall  be  much  mistaken  if 
the  order-loving  and  patriotic  people  of  our  Christian 
community  do  not  find  a  way  to  stamp  their  heel  upon 
this  vile  viper  before  its  venom  shall  have  poisoned  the 
air  we  breathe." 


XXXVII 

Then  I  picked  up  the  "Examiner."  Our  "Examiner" 
does  not  go  in  so  much  for  moral  causes ;  it  is  more  in- 
terested in  getting  circulation,  for  which  it  relies  upon 
sensation,  and  especially  what  it  calls  "heart  interest," 
meaning  sex.  It  had  found  what  it  wanted  in  this  story, 
as  you  may  judge  by  the  headlines : 

MOVIE  QUEEN  PAWNS  JEWELS  FOR  PROPHET 

OF  GOD 

Then  followed  a  story  of  which  Mary  Magna  was  the 
centre,  with  T-S  and  myself  for  background.  The  re- 
porter had  hunted  out  the  Mexican  family  with  which 
Carpenter  had  spent  the  night,  and  he  drew  a  touching 
picture  of  Carpenter  praying  over  Mary  in  this  humble 
home,  and  converting  her  to  a  better  life.  Would  the 
"million  dollar  vamp,"  as  the  "Examiner"  called  her,  now 
take  to  playing  only  religious  parts?  Mary  was  non- 
committal on  the  point;  and  pending  her  decision,  the 
"Examiner"  published  her  portraits  in  half  a  dozen  of 
her  most  luxurious  roles — for  example,  as  Salome  after 
taking  off  the  seventh  veil.  Side  by  side  with  Car- 
penter, that  had  a  real  "punch,"  you  may  believe! 

The  telephone  rang,  and  there  was  the  voice  of  T-S, 
fairly  raving.  He  didn't  mind  the  "Examiner"  stuff; 
that  was  good  business,  but  that  in  the  "Times" — he  was 
going  to  sue  the  "Times"  for  a  million  dollars,  by  God, 
and  would  I  back  him  in  his  Claim  that  he  had  not  put 
Carpenter  up  to  the  healing  business? 

After  a  bit,  the  magnate  began  apologizing  for  his  re- 

130 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

pudiation  of  the  prophet.  He  was  in  a  position,  just  now 
with  these  hard  times,  where  the  Wall  Street  crowd 
could  ruin  him  if  he  got  in  bad  with  them.  And  then 
he  told  me  a  curious  story.  Last  night,  after  the  meet- 
ing, young  Everett,  his  secretary,  had  come  to  him  and 
asked  if  he  could  have  a  couple  of  months'  leave  of 
absence  without  pay.  He  was  so  much  interested  in 
Carpenter  that  he  wanted  to  follow  him  and  help  him! 

"Y*  know,  Billy,"  said  the  voice  over  the  phone,  "y' 
could  a*  knocked  me  over  vit  a  fedder!  Dat  young 
feller,  he  vas  alvays  so  quiet,  and  such  a  fine  business 
feller,  I  put  him  in  charge  of  all  my  collections.  I  said 
to  him,  'Vot  you  gonna  do?'  And  he  said,  'I  gonna 
learn  from  Mr.  Carpenter."  Says  I,  'Vot  you  gonna 
learn?'  and  he  says,  'I  gonna  learn  to  be  a  better  man/ 
Den  he  vaits  a  minute,  and  he  says,  'Mr.  T-S,  he  told  me 
to  f oiler  him!'  J'  ever  hear  de  like  o'  dat?" 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"Vot  fcould  I  say?  I  vanted  to  say,  'Who's  givin'  you 
de  orders?'  But  I  couldn't,  somehow!  I  hadda  tell  him 
to  go  ahead,  and  come  back  before  he  forgot  all  my 
business." 

I  dressed,  and  had  my  breakfast,  and  drove  to  St.  Bar- 
tholomew's. It  was  a  November  morning,  bright  and 
sunny,  as  warm  as  summer;  and  it  is  always  such  a 
pleasure  to  see  that  goodly  company  of  ladies  and  gentle- 
men, so  perfectly  groomed,  so  perfectly  mannered, 
breathing  a  sense  of  peace  and  well  being.  Ah,  that  won- 
derful sense  of  well  being !  "God's  in  His  Heaven,  all's 
right  with  the  world!"  And  what  a  curious  contrast 
with  the  Labor  Temple !  For  a  moment  I  doubted  Car- 
penter ;  surely  these  ladies  with  their  decorative  bonnets, 
their  sweet  perfumes,  their  gowns  of  rose  and  lilac  and 


132  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

other  pastel  shades — surely  they  were  more  important 
life-products  than  women  in  frowsy  and  dowdy  imitation 
clothes!  Surely  it  was  better  to  be  serene  and  clean 
and  pleasant,  than  to  be  terrible  and  bewildered,  sick  and 
quarrelsome!  I  was  seized  by  a  frenzy,  a  sort  of  in- 
stinctive animal  lust  for  this  life  of  ease  and  prettiness. 
No  matter  if  those  dirty,  raucous-voiced  hordes  of 
strikers,  and  others  of  their  "ilk"— as  the  "Times" 
phrased  it — did  have  to  wash  my  clothes  and  scrub  my 
floors,  just  so  that  /  stayed  clean  and  decent! 

I  bowed  to  a  score  or  two  of  the  elegant  ladies,  and 
to  their  escorts  in  shiny  top  hats  and  uncreased  kid 
gloves,  and  went  into  the  exquisite  church  with  its 
glowing  stained  glass  window,  and  looked  up  over  the 
altar — and  there  stood  Carpenter!  I  tell  you,  it  gave 
me  a  queer  shock.  There  he  was,  up  in  the  window, 
exactly  where  he  had  always  been ;  I  thought  I  had  sud- 
denly wakened  from  a  dream.  There  had  been  no 
"prophet  fresh  from  God,"  no  mass-meeting  at  Grant 
Hall,  no  editorial  in  the  "Times" !  But  suddenly  I  heard 
a  voice  at  my  elbow:  "Billy,  what  is  this  awful  thing 
you've  been  doing?"  It  was  my  Aunt  Caroline,  and  I 
asked  what  she  meant,  and  she  answered,  "That  terrible 
prophet  creature,  and  getting  your  name  into  the 
papers !" 

So  I  knew  it  was  true,  and  I  walked  with  my  dear, 
sweet  old  auntie  down  the  aisle,  and  there  sat  Aunt 
Jennie,  with  her  two  lanky  girls  who  have  grown  inches 
every  time  I  run  into  them;  and  also  Uncle  Timothy. 
Uncle  Timothy  was  my  guardian  until  I  <came  of  age, 
so  I  am  a  little  in  awe  of  him,  and  now  I  had  to  listen 
to  his  whispered  reproaches — it  being  the  first  principle 
of  our  family  never  to  "get  into  the  papers."  I  told  him 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  133 

that  it  wasn't  my  fault  I  had  been  knocked  down  by  a 
mob,  and  surely  I  couldn't  help  it  if  this  man  Carpenter 
found  me  while  I  was  unconscious,  and  made  me  well. 
Nor  could  I  fail  to  be  polite  to  my  benefactor,  and  try 
to  help  him  about.  My  Uncle  Timothy  was  amazed, 
because  he  had  accepted  the  "Times"  story  that  it  was 
all  a  "movie"  hoax.  Everybody  will  tell  you  in  Western 
City  that  they  "never  believe  a  word  they  read  in  the 
'Times' " ;  but  of  course  they  do — they  have  to  believe 
something,  and  what  else  have  they? 

I  was  trying  to  think  about  that  picture  over  the  altar. 
Of  course,  they  would  naturally  have  replaced  it!  I 
wondered  who  had  found  old  de  Wiggs  up  there;  I 
wondered  if  he  knew  about  it,  and  if  he  had  any  idea 
who  had  played  that  prank.  I  looked  to  his  pew;  yes, 
there  he  sat,  rosy  and  beaming,  bland  as  ever !  I  looked 
for  old  Peter  Dexter,  president  of  the  Dexter  Trust 
Company — yes,  he  was  in  his  pew,  wizened  and  hunched 
up,  prematurely  bald.  And  Stuyvesant  Gunning,  of  the 
Fidelity  National — they  were  all  here,  the  masters  of  the 
city's  finance  and  the  pillars  of  "law  and  order."  Some 
wag  had  remarked  if  you  wanted  to  call  directors'  meet- 
ing after  the  service,  you  could  settle  all  the  business 
of  Western  City  in  St.  Bartholomew's! 

The  organ  pealed  and  the  white-robed  choir  marched 
in,  bearing  the  golden  crosses,  and  followed  by  the 
Reverend  Dr.  Lettuce-Spray,  smooth-shaven,  plump  and 
beautiful,  his  eyes  bent  reverently  on  the  floor.  They 
were  singing  with  fervor  that  most  orthodox  of  hymns : 

The   church's   one  foundation 
Is  Jesas  Christ,  her  Lord. 

It  is  a  beautiful  old  service,  as  you  may  know,  and  I 


134  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

had  been  taught  to  love  it  and  thrill  to  it  as  a  little  child, 
and  we  never  forget  those  things.  Peace  and  propriety 
are  its  keynotes;  order  and  dignity,  combined  with  sen- 
suous fcharm.  Everyone  knows  his  part,  and  it  moves 
along  like  a  beautiful  machine.  I  knelt  and  prayed,  and 
then  sat  and  listened,  and  then  stood  and  sang — over 
and  over  for  perhaps  three-quarters  of  an  hour.  We 
came  to  the  hymn  which  precedes  the  sermon,  and  turn- 
ing to  the  number,  we  obediently  proclaimed: 

The  Son  of  God  goes  forth  to  war 

A  kingly  crown  to  gain: 
His  blood-red  banner  streams  afar: 

Who  follows  in  His  train? 

During  the  singing  of  the  last  verse,  the  Reverend 
Lettuce-Spray  had  moved  silently  into  the  pulpit.  After 
the  choir  had  sung  "Amen,"  he  raised  his  hands  in  invo- 
cation— and  at  that  awesome  moment  I  saw  Carpenter 
come  striding  up  the  aisle  I  / 


XXXVIII 

He  knew  just  where  he  was  going,  and  walked  so  fast 
that  before  anyone  had  time  to  realize  what  was  hap- 
pening, he  was  on  the  altar  steps,  and  facing  the  congre- 
gation. You  could  hear  the  gasp  of  amazement;  he 
was  so  absolutely  identical  with  the  painted  figure  over 
his  head,  that  if  he  had  remained  still,  you  could  not 
have  told  which  was  painting  and  which  was  flesh  and 
blood.  The  rector  in  the  pulpit  stood  with  his  mouth 
open,  staring  as  if  seeing  a  ghost. 

The  prophet  stretched  out  both  his  hands,  and  pointed 
two  accusing  fingers  at  the  congregation.  His  voice  rang 
out,  stern  and  commanding:  "Let  this  mockery  cease!" 
Again  he  cried:  "What  do  ye  with  my  Name?"  And 
pointing  over  his  head:  "Ye  crucify  me  in  stained 
glass!" 

There  came  murmurs  from  the  congregation,  the  first 
mutterings  of  a  storm.  "Oh!  Outrageous!  Blas- 
phemy !" 

"Blasphemy?"  cried  Carpenter.  "Is  it  not  written  that 
God  dwelleth  not  in  temples  made  with  hands  ?  Ye  have 
built  a  temple  to  Mammon,  and  defile  the  name  of  my 
Father  therein !" 

The  storm  grew  louder.  "This  is  preposterous!"  ex- 
claimed my  uncle  Timothy  at  my  side.  And  the 
Reverend  Lettuce-Spray  managed  to  find  his  voice.  "Sir, 
whoever  you  are,  leave  this  church!" 

Carpenter  turned  upon  him.  "You  give  orders  to  me 
— you  who  have  brought  back  the  moneychangers  into 
my  Father's  temple?"  And  suddenly  he  faced  the  con- 

135 


136  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

gregation,  crying  in  a  voice  of  wrath:  "Algernon  de 
Wiggs !  Stand  ,up !" 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  banker  rose  in  his  pew ; 
whether  under  the  spell  of  Carpenter's  majestic  presence, 
or  preparing  to  rush  at  him  and  throw  him  out,  I  could 
not  be  sure.  The  great  banker's  face  was  vivid  scarlet. 

And  Carpenter  pointed  to  another  part  of  the  congre- 
gation. "Peter  Dexter!  Stand  up!"  The  president  of 
the  Dexter  Trust  Company  also  arose,  trembling  as  if 
with  palsy,  mumbling  something,  one  could  not  tell 
whether  protest  or  apology. 

"Stuy vesant  Gunning !  Stand  up !"  And  the  president 
of  the  Fidelity  National  obeyed.  Apparently  Carpenter 
proposed  to  call  the  whole  roll  of  financial  directors ;  but 
the  procedure  was  halted  suddenly,  as  a  tall,  white-robed 
figure  strode  from  its  seat  near  the  choir.  Young  Sidney 
Simpkinson,  assistant  to  the  rector,  went  up  to  Carpenter 
and  took  him  by  the  arm. 

"Leave  this  house  of  God/'  he  commanded. 

The  other  faced  him.  "It  is  written,  Thou  shalt  not 
take  the  name  of  the  Lord  thy  God  in  vain,  for  the  Lord 
will  not  hold  him  guiltless  that  taketh  His  name  in  vain." 

Young  Simpkinson  wasted  no  further  words  in  parley. 
He  was  an  advocate  of  what  is  known  as  "muscular 
Christianity,"  and  kept  himself  in  trim  playing  on  the 
parish  basket-ball  team.  He  flung  his  strong  arms  about 
Carpenter,  and  half  carrying  him,  half  walking  him,  took 
him  down  the  steps  and  down  the  aisle.  As  he  went, 
Carpenter  was  proclaiming:  "It  is  written,  My  house 
shall  be  called  a  house  of  prayer;  but  ye  have  made  it 
a  den  of  thieves.  He  that  steals  little  is  called  a  pick- 
pocket, but  he  that  steals  much  is  called  a  pillar  of  the 
church.  Verily,  he  that  deprives  the  laborer  of  the  fruit 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  137 

of  his  toil  is  more  dangerous  than  he  that  robs  upon  the 
highway;  and  he  that  steals  the  state  and  the  powers 
of  government  is  the  father  of  all  thieves." 

By  that  time,  the  prophet  had  been  hustled  two-thirds 
down  the  aisle ;  and  then  came  a  new  development.  Un- 
observed by  anyone,  a  number  of  Carpenter's  followers 
had  come  with  him  into  the  church;  and  these,  seeing 
the  way  he  was  being  handled,  set  up  a  cry :  "For  shame ! 
For  shame!"  I  saw  Everett,  secretary  to  T-S,  and 
Korwsky,  secretary  of  the  tailor's  union ;  I  saw  some  one 
leap  at  Everett  and  strike  him  a  ferocious  blow  in  the 
teeth,  and  two  other  men  leap  upon  the  little  Russian 
and  hurl  him  to  the  ground. 

I  started  up,  involuntarily.  "Oh,  shame!  Shame!" 
I  cried,  and  would  have  rushed  out  into  the  aisle.  But 
I  had  to  pass  my  uncle,  and  he  had  no  intention  of  letting 
me  make  myself  a  spectacle.  He  threw  his  arms  about 
me,  and  pinned  me  against  the  pew  in  front;  and  as  he 
is  one  of  the  ten  ranking  golfers  at  the  Western  City 
Country  Club,  his  embrace  carried  authority.  I  strug- 
gled, but  there  I  stayed,  shouting,  "For  shame!  For 
shame!"  and  my  uncle  exclaiming,  in  a  stern  whisper, 
"Shut  up !  Sit  down,  you  fool !"  and  my  Aunt  Caroline 
holding  onto  my  "boat-tails,  crying,  and  my  aunt  Jennie 
threatening  to  faint. 

The  melee  came  quickly  to  an  end,  for  the  men  of 
the  congregation  seized  the  half  dozen  disturbers  and 
flung  them  outside,  and  mounted  guard  to  make  sure  they 
did  not  return.  I  sank  back  into  my  seat,  my  worthy 
uncle  holding  my  arm  tightly  with  both  hands,  lest  I 
should  try  to  make  my  escape  over  the  laps  of  Aunt 
Caroline  and  Aunt  Jennie. 

All  this  time  the  Reverend  Lettuce-Spray  had  been 


138  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

standing  in  the  pulpit,  making  no  sound.  Now,  as  the 
congregation  settled  back  into  order,  he  said,  with  the 
splendid,  conscious  self-possession  of  one  who  can  remain 
"equal  to  the  occasion":  "We  will  resume  the  service." 
And  he  opened  his  portfolio,  and  spread  out  his  manu- 
script before  him,  and  announced: 

"Our  text  for  the  morning  is  the  fifth  chapter  of  the 
gospel  according  to  St.  Matthew,  the  thirty-ninth  and 
fortieth  verses :  'But  I  say  unto  you,  that  ye  resist  not 
evil:  but  whosoever  shall  smite  thee  on  thy  right  cheek, 
turn  to  him  the  other  also.  And  if  any  man  shall  sue 
thee  at  law,  and  take  away  thy  coat,  let  him  have  thy 
cloak  also." 


XXXIX 

I  sat  through  the  sermon,  and  the  offertory,  and  the 
recessional.  After  that  my  uncle  tried  to  detain  me,  to 
warn  and  scold  me ;  but  he  no  longer  used  physical  force, 
and  nothing  but  that  would  have  held  me.  At  the  door 
I  asked  one  of  the  ushers  what  had  become  of  the 
prophet,  thinking  he  might  be  in  jail.  But  the  answer 
was  that  the  gang  had  gone  off,  carrying  their  wounded ; 
so  I  ran  round  the  corner  to  where  my  car  was  parked, 
and  within  ten  minutes  I  was  on  Western  City  Street, 
where  Carpenter  had  announced  that  he  would  speak. 

There  had  been  nothing  said  about  the  proposed  meet- 
ing in  the  papers,  and  no  one  knew  about  it  save  those 
who  had  been  present  at  Grant  Hall.  But  it  looked  as 
if  they  had  told  everyone  they  knew,  and  everyone  they 
had  told  had  come.  The  wide  street  was  packed  solid 
for  a  block,  and  in  the  midst  of  this  throng  stood  Car- 
penter, upon  a  wagon,  making  a  speech. 

There  was  no  chance  to  get  near,  so  I  bethought  me  of 
an  alley  which  ran  parallel  to  the  street.  There  was  an 
obscure  hotel  on  the  street,  and  I  entered  it  through  the 
rear  entrance,  and  had  no  trouble  in  persuading  the  clerk 
to  let  me  join  some  of  the  guests  of  the  hotel  who  were 
watching  the  scene  from  the  second  story  windows. 

The  first  thing  which  caught  my  attention  was  the 
figure  of  Everett,  seated  on  the  floor  of  the  wagon  from 
which  the  speech  was  being  made.  I  saw  that  his  face 
was  covered  with  blood;  I  learned  later  that  he  had 
three  teeth  knocked  out,  and  his  nose  broken.  Never- 
theless, there  he  was  with  his  stenographer's  notebook, 
10  139 


140  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

taking  down  the  prophet's  words.  He  told  me  after- 
wards that  he  had  taken  even  what  Carpenter  said  in  the 
church.  "I've  an  idea  he  won't  last  very  long,"  was  the 
way  he  put  it;  "and  if  they  should  get  rid  of  him,  every 
word  he's  said  will  be  precious.  Anyhow,  I'm  going  to 
get  what  I  can." 

Also  I  saw  Korwsky,  lying  on  the  floor  of  the  wagon, 
evidently  knocked  out;  and  two  other  men  whom  I  did 
not  know,  nursing  battered  and  bloody  faces.  Having 
taken  all  that  in  at  a  glance,  I  gave  my  attention  to  what 
Carpenter  was  saying. 

He  was  discussing  churches  and  those  who  attend 
them.  Later  on,  my  attention  was  called  to  the  curious 
fact  that  his  discourse  was  merely  a  translation  into 
modern  American  of  portions  of  the  twenty-third  chapter 
of  St.  Matthew ;  a  free  adaptation  of  those  ancient  words 
to  present  day  practices  and  conditions.  But  I  had  no 
idea  of  this  while  I  listened;  I  was  shocked  by  what 
seemed  to  me  a  furious  tirade,  and  the  guests  of  the 
hotel  were  even  more  shocked — I  think  they  would  have 
taken  to  throwing  things  out  of  the  windows  at  the 
orator,  had  it  not  been  for  their  fear  of  the  crowd.  Said 
Carpenter : 

"The  theologians  and  scholars  and  the  pious  laymen 
fill  the  leisure  class  churches,  and  it  would  be  all  right 
if  you  were  to  listen  to  what  they  preach,  and  do  that; 
but  don't  follow  their  actions,  for  they  never  practice 
what  they  preach.  They  load  the  backs  of  the  working- 
classes  with  crushing  burdens,  but  they  themselves  nevei 
move  a  finger  to  carry  a  burden,  and  everything  they  dc 
is  for  show.  They  wear  frock-coats  and  silk  hats  on  Sun- 
days, and  they  sit  at  the  speakers'  tables  at  the  banquets 
of  the  Civic  Federation,  and  they  occupy  the  best  pews 


THEY  CALL  ME  CABPENTEB 

in  the  churches,  and  their  doings  are  reported  in  all  the 
papers;  they  are  called  leading  citizens  and  pillars  of 
the  church.  But  don't  you  be  called  leading  citizens,  for 
the  only  useful  man  is  the  man  who  produces.  (Ap- 
plause.) And  whoever  exalts  himself  shall  be  abased, 
and  whoever  humbles  himself  shall  be  exalted. 

"Woe  unto  you,  doctors  of  divinity  and  Catholics,  hypo- 
crites! for  you  shut  up  the  kingdom  of  heaven  against 
men;  you  don't  go  in  yourself  and  you  don't  let  others 
go  in.  Woe  unto  you,  doctors  of  divinity  and  Presby- 
terians, hypocrites !  for  you  foreclose  mortgages  on 
widows'  houses,  and  for  a  pretense  you  make  long 
prayers.  For  this  you  will  receive  the  greater  damna- 
tion !  Woe  unto  you,  doctors  of  divinity  and  Method- 
ists, hypocrites!  for  you  send  missionaries  to  Africa  to 
make  one  convert,  and  when  you  have  made  him,  is 
twice  as  much  a  child  of  hell  as  yourselves.  (Applause.) 
Woe  unto  you,  blind  guides,  with  your  subtleties  of  doc- 
trine, your  transubstantiation  and  consubstantiation  and 
all  the  rest  of  it;  you  fools  and  blind!  Woe  unto  you, 
doctors  of  divity  and  Episcopalians,  hypocrites!  for 
you  drop  your  checks  into  the  collection-plate  and  you 
pay  no  heed  to  the  really  important  things  in  the  Bible, 
which  are  justice  and  mercy  and  faith  in  goodness.  You 
blind  guides,  who  choke  over  a  fly  and  swallow  a  flivver ! 
(Laughter.)  Woe  unto  you,  doctors  of  divinity  and 
Anglicans,  hypocrites !  for  you  dress  in  immaculate  cloth- 
ing kept  clean  by  the  toil  of  frail  women,  but  within  you 
are  full  of  extortion  and  excess.  You  blind  high  church- 
men, clean  first  your  hearts,  so  that  the  clothes  you  wear 
may  represent  you.  Woe  unto  you,  doctors  of  divinity 
and  Baptists,  hypocrites!  for  you  are  like  marble  tombs 
which  appear  beautiful  on  the  outside,  but  inside  are  full 


142  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

of  dead  men's  bones  and  all  uncleanness.  Even  so  you 
appear  righteous  to  men,  but  inside  you  are  full  of 
hypocrisy  and  iniquity.  (Applause.)  Woe  unto  you, 
doctors  of  divinity  and  Unitarians,  hypocrites!  because 
you  erect  statues  to  dead  reformers,  and  put  wreaths 
upon  the  tombs  of  old-time  martyrs.  You  say,  if  we  had 
been  alive  in  those  days,  we  would  not  have  helped  to 
kill  those  good  men.  That  ought  to  show  you  how  to 
treat  us  at  present.  (Laughter.)  But  you  are  the  chil- 
dren of  those  who  killed  the  good  men ;  so  go  ahead  and 
kill  us  too!  You  serpents,  you  generation  of  vipers,  how 
can  you  escape  the  damnation  of  hell?" 


XL 

When  Carpenter  stopped  speaking,  his  face  was  drip- 
ping with  sweat,  and  he  was  pale.  But  the  eager  crowd 
would  not  let  him  go.  They  began  to  ask  him  ques- 
tions. There  were  some  who  wanted  to  know  what  he 
meant  by  saying  that  he  came  from  God,  and  some  who 
wanted  to  know  whether  he  believed  in  the  Christian 
religion.  There  were  others  who  wanted  to  know  what 
he  thought  about  political  action,  and  if  he  really  believed 
that  the  capitalists  would  give  up  without  using  force. 
There  was  a  man  who  had  been  at  the  relief  kitchen,  and 
noted  that  he  ate  soup  with  meat  in  it,  and  asked  if  this 
was  not  using  force  against  one's  fellow  creatures.  The 
old  gentleman  who  represented  spiritualism  was  on  hand, 
asking  if  the  dead  are  still  alive,  and  if  so,  where  are  they? 

Then,  before  the  meeting  was  over,  there  came  a  sick 
man  to  be  healed ;  and  others,  pushing  their  way  through 
the  fcrowd,  clamoring  about  the  wagon,  seeking  even  to 
touch  the  hem  of  Carpenter's  garments.  After  a  couple 
of  hours  of  this  he  announced  that  he  was  worn  out.  But 
it  was  a  problem  to  get  the  wagon  started;  they  could 
only  move  slowly,  the  driver  calling  to  the  people  in 
front  to  make  room.  So  they  went  down  the  street,  and 
I  got  into  my  car  and  followed  at  a  distance.  I  did  not 
know  where  they  were  going,  and  there  was  nothing  I 
could  do  but  creep  along — a  poor  little  rich  boy  with  a 
big  automobile  and  nobody  to  ride  in  it,  or  to  pay  any 
attention  to  him. 

The  wagon  drove  to  the  city  jail;  which  rather  gave 
me  a  start,  because  I  had  been  thinking  that  the  party 

143 


144  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

might  be  arrested  at  any  minute,  on  complaint  to  the 
police  from  the  church.  But  apparently  this  did  not 
trouble  Carpenter.  He  wished  to  visit  the  strikers  who 
had  been  arrested  in  front  of  Prince's  restaurant.  He 
and  several  others  stood  before  the  heavy  barred  doors, 
asking  for  admission,  while  a  big  crowd  gathered  and 
stared.  I  sat  watching  the  scene,  with  phrases  learned 
in  earliest  childhood  floating  through  my  mind :  "I  was 
sick,  and  ye  visited  me;  I  was  in  prison,  and  ye  came 
unto  me." 

But  it  appeared  that  Sunday  was  not  visitors'  day  al 
the  jail,  and  the  little  company  was  turned  away.  As 
they  climbed  back  into  the  wagon,  I  saw  two  husky 
fellows  come  from  the  jail,  a  type  one  learns  to  know 
as  plain  clothes  men.  "Why  won't  they  let  him  in?' 
cried  some  one  in  the  crowd;  and  one  of  the  detectives 
looked  over  his  shoulder,  with  a  sneering  laugh :  "We'll 
let  him  in  before  long,  don't  you  worry !" 

The  wagon  took  up  its  slow  march  again.  It  was  a 
one-horse  express-cart,  belonging,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  to  a  compatriot  of  Korwsky  the  tailor.  This 
man,  Simon  Karlin,  earned  a  meager  living  for  himseli 
and  his  family  by  miscellaneous  delivery  in  his  neigh- 
borhood; but  now  he  was  so  fascinated  with  Carpentei 
that  he  had  dropped  everything  in  order  to  carry  th( 
prophet  about.  I  mention  it,  because  next  day  in  the 
newspapers  there  was  much  fun  made  of  this  imitatior 
man  of  God  riding  about  town  in  a  half  broken-dowr 
express-wagon,  hauled  by  a  rickety  and  spavined  old  nag 

The  company  drove  to  one  of  the  poorer  quarters  o: 
the  city,  and  stopped  before  a  workingman's  cottage  or 
a  street  whose  name  I  had  never  heard  before.  I  learnec 
that  it  was  the  home  of  James,  the  striking  carpenter 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  145 

and  on  the  steps  were  his  wife  and  a  brood  of  half  a 
dozen  children,  and  his  old  father  and  mother,  and 
several  other  people  unidentified.  There  were  many 
who  had  walked  all  the  way  following  the  wagon,  and 
others  gathered  quickly,  and  besought  the  prophet  to 
speak  to  them,  and  to  heal  their  sick.  Apparently  his 
whole  life  was  to  consist  of  that  kind  of  thing,  for  he 
found  it  hard  to  refuse  any  request.  But  finally  he  told 
them  he  must  be  quiet,  and  went  inside,  and  James 
mounted  guard  at  the  door,  and  I  sat  in  my  car  and 
waited  until  the  crowd  had  filtered  away.  There  was 
no  good  reason  why  I  should  have  been  admitted,  but 
James  apparently  was  glad  to  see  me,  and  let  me  join 
the  little  company  that  was  gathered  in  his  home. 

There  was  Everett,  who  had  now  washed  the  blood 
off  his  face,  but  had  not  been  able  to  put  back  his  lost 
teeth,  nor  to  heal  the  swollen  mass  that  had  once  been 
his  upper  lip  and  nose.  And  there  was  Korwsky,  who 
was  now  able  to  sit  up  and  smile  feebly,  and  two  other 
men,  whose  names  I  did  not  learn,  nursing  battered  faces. 
Carpenter  prayed  over  them  all,  and  they  became  more 
cheerful,  and  eager  to  talk  about  the  adventure,  each 
telling  over  what  had  happened  to  him.  I  noted  that 
Everett,  in  spite  of  what  must  have  been  intense  pain, 
was  still  faithfully  taking  down  every  word  the  prophet 
uttered. 

It  had  been  known  that  Carpenter  was  to  honor  this 
house  with  his  presence,  and  the  family  were  all  dressed 
in  their  best,  and  had  got  together  a  supper,  in  spite  of 
hard  times  and  strikes.  We  had  sandwiches  and  iced 
tea  and  a  slice  of  pie  for  each  of  us,  and  I  was  interested 
to  observe  that  the  prophet,  tired  as  he  was,  liked  to 
laugh  and  chat  over  his  food,  exactly  like  any  uninspired 
human  being.  He  never  failed  to  get  the  children  around 
him  and  tell  them  stories,  and  hear  their  bright  laughter. 


XLI 

But,  of  course,  serious  things  kept  intruding.  Karlin, 
the  express  driver,  had  a  sick  wife,  and  Carpenter  heard 
about  her  and  insisted  upon  going  to  see  her.  Appar- 
ently there  was  no  end  to  this  business  of  the  poor  being 
sick.  It  was  a  new  thing  to  me — this  world  swarming 
with  dirty  and  miserable  and  distracted  people.  Of 
Bourse,  I  had  known  about  "the  poor,"  but  always  either 
in  the  abstract,  or  else  as  an  individual,  or  a  family,  that 
one  could  help.  But  here  was  a  new  world,  thickly 
peopled,  swarming;  that  was  the  terrible  part  of  it — the 
vastness  of  it,  the  thickness  of  the  population  in  these 
regions  of  "the  poor."  It  was  like  some  sort  of  delirium ; 
like  being  lost  in  a  wilderness,  of  which  the  trees  were 
miseries,  and  deformities,  and  pains!  I  could  under- 
stand to  the  full  Carpenter's  feeling  when  he  put  his 
hands  to  his  forehead,  exclaiming :  "There  is  so  much-  to 
do  and  so  few  to  do  it!  Pray  to  God,  that  he  will  send 
some  to  help  us!" 

When  he  returned  from  Simon  Karlin's,  he  brought 
with  him  the  latter's  wife,  whom  he  had  healed  of  a 
fever;  and  here  was  another  of  the  company  whom  he 
insisted  upon  helping — "Comrade"  Abell,  one  of  the  men 
I  had  noticed  at  the  meeting  last  night,  and  who  ap- 
peared to  be  done  up.  This  man,  I  learned,  was  secre- 
tary of  the  Socialist  local  of  Western  City.  I  had  known 
there  were  Socialists  in  the  city,  just  as  I  knew  there 
were  poor,  but  I  had  never  seen  one,  and  was  curious 
about  Abell.  He  was  a  lawyer ;  and  that  might  suggest 
to  you  a  Certain  type  of  person,  brisk  and  well  dressed — • 

146 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  147 

but  apparently  Socialist  lawyers  are  not  true  to  type. 
Comrade  Abell  was  a  shy,  timid  little  man,  with  black 
hair  straggling  about  his  ears,  and  sometimes  into  his 
eyes.  He  had  a  gentle,  pathetic  face,  and  his  voice  was 
melancholy  and  caressing.  He  was  clad  in  a  frock  coat 
of  black  broadcloth,  which  had  once  been  appropriate 
for  Sunday;  but  I  should  judge  it  had  been  worn  for 
twenty  years,  for  it  was  green  about  the  collar  and  the 
cuffs  and  button-holes. 

Comrade  Abell's  office  and  also  his  home  were  in  a 
second  story,  over  a  grocery-store  in  this  neighborhood, 
and  here  also  was  a  little  hall  used  as  a  meeting-place 
by  the  Socialists.  Every  Saturday  night  Abell  and  two 
or  three  of  his  friends  conducted  a  soap-box  meeting  on 
Western  City  Street,  and  gave  away  propaganda  leaflets 
and  sold  a  few  pamphlets  and  books.  He  had  had  quite 
a  supply  of  literature  of  all  kinds  at  his  office,  nearly 
two  thousand  dollars  worth,  he  told  Carpenter,  but  a  few 
months  previously  the  place  had  been  mobbed.  A  band 
of  ex-service  men,  accompanied  by  a  few  police  and  de- 
tectives, had  raided  it  and  terrified  the  wife  and  children 
by  breaking  down  the  doors  and  throwing  the  contents 
of  desks  and  bureaus  out  on  the  floor.  They  had  dumped 
the  literature  into  a  truck  and  carted  it  away,  and  after 
two  or  three  weeks  they  had  dumped  it  back  again,  hav- 
ing found  nothing  criminal  in  it.  "But  they  ruined  it  so 
that  it  £an't  be  sold!"  broke  in  James,  indignantly. 
"Most  of  it  was  bought  on  credit,  and  how  can  we  pay 
for  it." 

James  was  also  a  Socialist,  it  appeared,  while  Korwsky 
and  his  friend  Karlin  advocated  "industrial  action,"  and 
these  fell  to  arguing  over  "tactics,"  while  Carpenter 
asked  questions,  so  as  to  understand  their  different 


148  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

points  of  view.  Presently  Korwsky  was  called  out  of 
the  room,  and  came  back  with  an  announcement  which 
he  evidently  considered  grave.  John  Colver  was  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  wanted  to  know  if  Carpenter  would 
meet  him. 

"Who  is  John  Colver?"  asked  the  prophet.  And  it 
was  explained  that  this  was  a  dangerous  agitator,  now 
under  sentence  of  twenty  years  in  jail,  but  out  on  bail 
pending  the  appeal  of  his  case  to  the  supreme  court. 
Colver  was  a  "wobbly,"  well  known  as  one  of  their  poets. 
Said  Korwsky,  "He  tinks  you  vouldn't  like  to  know  him, 
because  if  de  spies  find  it  out,  dey  vould  git  after  you." 

"I  will  meet  any  man,"  said  Carpenter.  "My  business 
is  to  meet  men."  And  so  in  a  few  minutes  the  terrible 
John  Colver  was  escorted  into  the  room. 

Now,  every  once  in  a  while  I  had  read  in  the  "Times" 
how  another  bunch  of  these  I.  W.  W's.  were  put  on  trial, 
and  how  they  were  insolent  to  the  judge,  and  how  it  was 
proved  they  had  committed  many  crimes,  and  how  they 
were  sentenced  to  fourteen  years  in  State's  prison  under 
our  criminal  syndicalism  act.  Needless  to  say,  I  had 
never  seen  one  of  these  desperate  men ;  but  I  had  a  quite 
definite  idea  what  they  looked  like — dark  and  sinister 
creatures,  with  twisted  mouths  and  furtive  eyes.  I 
knew  that,  because  I  had  seen  a  couple  of  moving  pic- 
ture shows  in  which  they  figured.  But  now  for  the  first 
time  I  met  one,  and  behold,  he  was  an  open-faced,  laugh- 
ing lad,  with  apple  cheeks  and  two  most  beautiful  rows 
of  even  white  teeth  that  gleamed  at  you ! 

"Fellow-worker  Carpenter!"  he  cried;  and  caught  the 
prophet  by  his  two  hands.  "You  are  an  old  friend  of 
ours,  though  you  may  not  know  it!  We  drink  a  toast 
to  you  in  our  jungles." 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  149 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Carpenter. 

"I  suppose  I  really  have  no  right  to  see  you,"  continued 
the  other,  "because  I'm  shadowed  all  the  time,  and  you 
know  my  organization  is  outlawed." 

"Why  is  it  outlawed?" 

"Well,"  said  Colver,  "they  say  we  burn  crops  and 
barns,  and  drive  copper-nails  into  fruit-trees,  and  spikes 
into  sawmill  lumber." 

"And  do  you  do  that?" 

Colver  laughed  his  merry  laugh.  "We  do  it  just  as 
often  as  you  act  for  the  movies,  Fellow-worker  Carpen- 
ter!" 

"I  see,"  said  Carpenter.     "What  do  you  really  do?" 

"What  we  really  do  is  to  organize  the  unskilled  work- 
ers." 

"For  what  do  you  organize  them?" 

"So  that  they  will  be  able  to  run  the  industries  when 
the  system  of  greed  breaks  down  of  its  own  rottenness." 

"I  see,"  said  the  prophet,  and  he  thought  for  a  moment 
"It  is  a  slave  revolt !" 

"Exactly,"  said  the  other. 

"I  know  what  they  do  to  slave  revolts,  my  brother. 
You  are  fortunate  if  they  only  send  you  to  prison." 

"They  do  plenty  more  than  that,"  said  Colver.  "I  will 
give  you  our  pamphlet,  'Drops  of  Blood/  and  you  may 
read  about  some  of  the  lynching  and  tarring  and  feather- 
ing and  shooting  of  Mobland."  His  eyes  twinkled. 
"That's  a  dandy  name  you've  hit  on!  I  shall  be  sur- 
prised if  it  doesn't  stick." 

Carpenter  went  on  questioning,  bent  upon  knowing 
about  this  outlaw  organization  and  its  members.  It 
was  clear  before  long  that  he  had  taken  a  fancy  to  young 
John  Colver.  He  made  him  sit  beside  him,  and  asked 


150  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTEB 

to  hear  some  of  his  poetry,  and  when  he  found  it  was 
really  vivid  and  beautiful,  he  put  his  arm  about  the  young 
poet's  shoulders.  Again  I  found  memories  of  old  child- 
hood phrases  stirring  in  my  mind.  Had  there  not  once 
been  a  disciple  named  John,  who  was  especially  beloved? 


XLII 

Presently  the  young  agitator  began  telling  about  an 
investigation  he  had  been  making  in  the  lumber  coun- 
try of  the  Northwest.  He  was  writing  a  pamphlet  on 
the  subject  of  a  massacre  which  had  occurred  there.  A 
mob  of  ex-soldiers  had  stormed  the  headquarters  of  the 
"wobblies,"  and  the  latter  had  defended  themselves,  and 
killed  two  or  three  of  their  assailants.  A  news  agency 
had  sent  out  over  the  country  a  story  to  the  effect  that 
the  "wobblies"  had  made  an  unprovoked  assault  upon 
the  ex-soldiers.  "That's  what  the  papers  do  to  us  1"  said 
John  Colver.  "There  have  been  scores  of  mobbings  as 
a  result,  and  just  now  it  may  be  worth  a  man's  life  to 
be  caught  carrying  a  red  card  in  any  of  these  Western 
states." 

So  there  was  the  subject  of  non-resistance,  and  I  sat 
and  listened  with  strangely  mingled  feelings  of  sympathy 
and  repulsion,  while  this  group  of  rebels  of  all  shades 
and  varieties  argued  whether  it  was  really  possible  for 
the  workers  to  get  free  without  some  kind  of  force. 
Carpenter,  it  appeared,  was  the  only  one  in  the  com- 
pany who  believed  it  possible.  The  gentle  Comrade 
Abell  was  obliged  to  admit  that  the  Socialists,  in  using 
political  action,  were  really  resorting  to  force  in  a  veiled 
form.  They  sought  to  take  possession  of  the  state  by 
voting;  but  the- state  was  an  instrument  of  force,  and 
would  use  force  to  carry  out  its  will.  "You  are  an 
anarchist!"  said  the  Socialist  lawyer,  addressing  Car- 
penter. 

To  my  surprise  Carpenter  was  not  shocked  by  this. 

151 


152  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

"If  I  admit  no  power  but  love,"  said  he,  "how  can  I  have 
anything  to  do  with  government?" 

More  visitors  called,  and  were  admitted,  and  presently 
the  little  room  was  packed  with  people,  and  a  regular 
meeting  was  in  progress.  I  heard  more  strange  ideas 
than  I  had  ever  known  existed  in  the  world.  I  tried  not 
to  be  offended ;  but  I  thought  there  ought  to  be  at  least 
a  few  words  said  for  plain  ordinary  human  beings  who 
carry  no  labels,  so  I  ventured  now  and  then  to  put  in 
a  mild  suggestion — for  example,  that  there  were  quite 
a  few  people  in  the  world  who  did  not  love  all  their 
neighbors,  and  could  not  be  persuaded  to  love  them  all 
at  once,  and  it  might  be  necessary  to  put  just  a  little 
restraint  upon  them  for  a  time.  Again  I  suggested, 
maybe  the  workers  were  not  yet  sufficiently  educated  to 
run  the  industries,  they  might  need  some  help  from  the 
present  masters.  "Just  a  little  more  education,"  I  ven- 
tured—  t 

And  John  Colver  laughed,  the  first  ugly  laugh  I  had 
heard  from  him.  "Education  by  the  masters?  Educa- 
tion at  the  end  of  a  club !" 

"My  boy,"  I  argued,  "I  know  there  are  plenty  of  em- 
ployers who  are  rough,  but  there  are  others  who  are 
good  men,  who  would  like  to  change  the  system,  would 
like  to  do  something,  if  they  knew  what  it  was.  But 
who  will  tell  them  what  to  do?  Take  me,  for  example. 
I  have  a  great  deal  of  wealth  which  I  have  not  earned; 
but  what  can  I  do  about  it?  What  do  you  say,  Mr. 
Carpenter?" 

I  turned  to  him,  as  the  true  authority ;  and  the  others 
also  turned  to  him.  He  answered,  without  hesitation: 
"Sell  everything  that  you  have  and  give  it  to  the  unem- 
ployed." 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  153 

"But,"  said  I,  "would  that  really  solve  the  problem. 
They  would  spend  it,  and  we  should  be  right  where  we 
were  before." 

Said  Carpenter:  "They  are  unemployed  because  you 
have  taken  from  them  wealth  which  you  have  not 
earned.  Give  it  back  to  them." 

And  then,  seeing  that  I  was  not  satisfied,  he  added: 
"How  hard  it  is  for  a  rich  man  to  understand  the  mean- 
ing of  social  justice!  Indeed,  it  would  be  easier  for  a 
strike  leader  to  get  the  truth  published  in  your  Times', 
than  for  a  rich  man  to  understand  what  the  word  social 
justice  means." 

The  Company  laughed,  and  I  subsided,  and  let  the 
wave  of  conversation  roll  by.  It  was  only  later  that  I 
realized  the  part  I  had  just  been  playing.  It  had  been 
easy  for  me  to  recognize  T-S  as  St.  Peter,  but  I  had 
not  known  myself  as  that  rich  young  man  who  had 
asked  for  advice,  and  then  rejected  it.  "When  he  heard 
this,  he  was  very  sorrowful ;  for  he  was  very  rich."  Yes, 
I  had  found  my  place  in  the  story ! 


XLIII 

You  may  believe  that  next  morning  my  first  thought 
was  to  get  hold  of  the  "Times"  and  see  what  they  had 
done  to  my  prophet.  Sure  enough,  there  he  was  on  the 
front  page,  three  columns  wide,  with  the  customary 
streamer  head : 

MOB  OF  ANARCHISTS  RAID  ST.  BARTHOL- 
MEW'S 

PROPHET  AND  RAGGED  HORDE  BREAK  UP 
CHURCH  SERVICES 

I  skimmed  over  the  story  quickly;  I  noted  that  Car- 
penter was  represented  as  having  tried  to  knock  down 
the  Reverend  Mr.  Simpkinson,  and  that  the  prophet's 
followers  had  assaulted  members  of  the  congregation. 
I  confess  to  some  relief  upon  discovering  that  my  own 
humble  part  in  the  adventure  had  not  been  mentioned. 
I  suspected  that  my  Uncle  Timothy  must  have  been 
busy  at  the  telephone  on  Sunday  evening!  But  then  I 
turned  to  the  "Examiner,"  and  alas,  there  I  was!  "A 
certain  rich  young  man/'  rising  up  to  protect  an  in- 
cendiary prophet!  I  remembered  that  my  Uncle 
Timothy  had  had  a  violent  row  with  the  publisher  of 
the  "Examiner"  a  year  or  two  ago,  over  some  political 
appointment ! 

The  "Times"  had  another  editorial,  two  columns, 
double  leaded.  Yesterday  the  paper  had  warned  the 
public  what  to  expect;  today  it  saw  the  prophecies  justi- 
fied, and  what  it  now  wished  to  know  was,  had  Western 
City  a  police  department,  or  had  it  not?  "How  much 
longer  do  our  authorities  propose  to  give  rein  to  this 

154 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  155 

fire-brand  imposter?  This  prophet  of  God  who  rides 
about  town  in  a  broken-down  express-wagon,  and  con- 
sorts with  movie  actresses  and  red  agitators !  Must  the 
police  wait  until  his  seditious  doctrines  have  fanned  the 
flames  of  mob  violence  beyond  Control?  Must  they  wait 
until  he  has  gathered  all  the  others  of  his  ilk,  the  ad- 
vocates of  lunacy  and  assassination  about  him,  and 
caused  an  insurrection  of  class  envy  and  hate?  We  call 
upon  the  authorities  of  our  city  to  act  and  act  at  once; 
to  put  this  wretched  mountebank  behind  bars  where  he 
belongs,  and  keep  him  there." 

There  was  another  aspect  of  this  matter  upon  which 
the  "Times"  laid  emphasis.  After  long  efforts  on  the 
part  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  and  other  civic  organ- 
izations, Western  City  had  been  selected  as  the  place 
for  the  annual  convention  of  the  Mobland  Brigade.  In 
three  days  this  convention  would  be  called  to  order,  and 
already  the  delegates  were  pouring  in  by  every  train. 
What  impression  would  they  get  of  law  and  order  in 
this  community?  Was  this  the  purpose  for  which  they 
had  shed  their  blood  in  a  dreadful  war — that  their  coun- 
try might  be  affronted  by  the  ravings  of  an  impious 
charlatan?  What  had  the  gold-star  mothers  of  West- 
ern City  to  say  to  this?  What  did  the  local  post  of  the 
Mobland  Brigade  propose  to  do  to  save  the  fair  name 
of  their  city?  Said  the  "Times":  "If  our  supine  au- 
thorities refuse  to  meet  this  emergency,  we  believe  there 
are  enough  100%  Americans  still  among  us  to  protect 
the  'cause  of  public  decency,  and  to  assert  the  right  of 
Christian  people  to  worship  their  God  without  interfer- 
ence from  the  Dictatorship  of  the  Lunatic  Asylum." 

Now,  I  had  been  so  much  interested  in  Carpenter  and 

his  adventures  that  I  had  pretty  well  overlooked  this 

11  * 


156  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

matter  of  the  Mobland  Brigade  and  its  convention.  I 
belong  to  the  Brigade  myself,  and  ought  to  have  been 
serving  on  the  committee  of  arrangements;  instead  of 
which,  here  I  was  chasing  around  trying  to  save  a 
prophet,  who,  it  appeared,  really  wanted  to  get  into 
trouble!  Yes,  the  Brigade  was  coming;  and  I  could 
foresee  what  would  happen  when  a  bunch  of  these  wild 
men  encountered  Carpenter's  express  wagon  on  the 
street ! 


XLIV 

I  swallowed  a  hasty  cup  of  coffee,  and  drove  in  a  taxi 
to  the  Labor  Temple.  Carpenter  had  said  he  would  be 
there  early  in  the  morning,  to  help  with  the  relief  work 
again.  I  went  to  the  rooms  of  the  Restaurant  Workers, 
and  found  that  he  had  not  yet  arrived.  I  noticed  a  group 
of  half  a  dozen  men  standing  near  the  door,  and  there 
seemed  something  uncordial  in  the  look  they  gave  me. 
One  of  them  came  toward  me,  the  same  who  had  sought 
my  advice  about  permitting  Carpenter  to  speak  at  the 
mass  meeting.  "Good  morning,"  he  said;  and  then:  "I 
thought  you  told  me  this  fellow  Carpenter  was  not  a 
red?" 

"Well,"  said  I,  taken  by  surprise,  "is  he?" 

"God  Almighty !"  said  the  other.  "What  do  you  call 
this?"  And  he  held  up  a  copy  of  the  "Times."  "Going 
in  and  shouting  in  the  middle  of  a  church  service,  and 
trying  to  knock  down  a  clergyman !" 

I  could  not  help  laughing  in  the  man's  face.  "So  even 
you  labor  men  believe  what  you  read  in  the  'Times'! 
It  happens  I  was  present  in  the  church  myself,  and  I 
assure  you  that  Carpenter  offered  no  resistance,  and 
neither  did  anyone  else  in  his  group.  You  remember, 
I  told  you  he  was  a  man  of  peace,  and  that  was  all  I 
told  you." 

"Well,"  said  the  other,  somewhat  more  mildly,  "even 
so,  we  can't  stand  for  this  kind  of  thing.  That's  no  way 
to  accomplish  anything.  A  whole  lot  of  our  members 
are  Catholics,  and  what  will  they  make  of  carryings-on 
like  this?  We're  trying  to  persuade  people  that  we're  n 

157 


158  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTEB 

law-abiding  organization,  and  that  our  officials  are  men 
of  sense." 

"I  see,"  said  I.  "And  what  do  you  mean  to  do  about 
it?" 

"We  have  called  a  meeting  of  our  executive  committee 
this  morning,  and  are  going  to  adopt  a  resolution,  mak- 
ing clear  to  the  public  that  we  knew  nothing  about  this 
church  raid,  and  that  we  don't  stand  for  such  things. 
We  would  never  have  permitted  this  man  Carpenter  to 
speak  on  our  platform,  if  we  had  known  about  his  ideas." 

I  had  nothing  to  say,  and  I  said  it.  The  other  was 
watching  me  uneasily.  "We  hear  the  man  proposes  to 
come  back  to  our  relief  kitchen.  Is  that  so?" 

"I  believe  he  does ;  and  I  suppose  you  would  rather  he 
didn't.  Is  that  it?"  The  other  admitted  that  was  it, 
and  I  laughed.  "He  has  had  his  thousand  dollars  worth 
of  hospitality,  I  suppose." 

"Well,  we  don't  want  to  hurt  his  feelings,"  said  the 
other.  "Of  Bourse  our  members  are  having  a  hard  time, 
and  we  were  glad  to  get  the  money,  but  it  would  be 
better  if  our  central  organization  were  to  contribute  the 
funds,  rather  than  to  have  us  pay  such  a  price  as  this 
newspaper  publicity." 

"Then  let  your  committee  vote  the  money,  and  return 
it  to  Mr.  T-S,  and  also  to  Mary  Magna." 

It  took  the  man  sometime  to  figure  out  a  reply  to  this 
proposition.  "We  have  no  objection  to  Mr.  T-S  coming 
here,"  he  said,  "or  Miss  Magna  either." 

"That  is,"  said  I,  "so  long  as  they  obey  the  law,  and 
don't  get  in  bad  with  the  Western  City  Times' !"  After 
a  moment  I  added,  "You  may  make  your  mind  easy. 
I  will  go  downstairs  and  wait  for  Mr.  Carpenter,  and 
tell  him  he  is  not  wanted." 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  159 

And  so  I  left  the  Labor  Temple  and  walked  up  and 
down  on  the  sidewalk  in  front.  It  was  really  rather  un- 
reasonable of  me  to  be  annoyed  with  this  labor  man  for 
having  voiced  the  same  point  of  view  of  "common  sense" 
which  I  had  been  defending  to  Carpenter's  group  on 
the  previous  evening.  Also,  I  was  obliged  to  admit  to 
myself  that  if  I  were  a  labor  leader,  trying  to  hold  to- 
gether a  group  of  half-educated  men  in  the  face  of  public 
sentiment  such  as  existed  in  this  city,  I  might  not  have 
the  same  carefree,  laughing  attitude  towards  life  as  a 
certain  rich  young  man  whose  pockets  were  stuffed  with 
unearned  increments. 

To  this  mood  of  tolerance  I  had  brought  myself,  when 
I  saw  a  white  robe  come  round  the  corner,  arm  in  arm 
with  a  frock  coat  of  black  broadcloth.  Also  there  came 
Everett,  looking  still  more  ghastly,  his  nose  and  lip 
having  become  purple,  and  in  places  green.  Also  there 
was  Korwsky,  and  two  other  men;  Moneta,  a  young 
Mexican  cigarmaker  out  of  work,  and  a  man  named 
Hamby,  who  had  turned  up  on  the  previous  evening, 
introducing  himself  as  a  pacifist  who  had  been  arrested 
and  beaten  up  during  the  war.  Somehow  he  did  not 
conform  to  my  idea  of  a  pacifist,  being  a  solid  and  rather 
stoutish  fellow,  with  nothing  of  the  idealist  about  him. 
But  Carpenter  took  him,  as  he  took  everybody,  without 
question  or  suspicion. 


XLV 

I  joined  the  group,  and  made  clear  to  them,  as  tact- 
fully as  I  could,  that  they  were  not  wanted  inside. 
Comrade  Abell  threw  up  his  hands.  "Oh,  those  labor 
skates !"  he  cried.  "Those  miserable,  cowardly,  grafting 
politicians!  Thinking  about  nothing  but  keeping  them- 
selves respectable,  and  holding  on  to  their  fat,  comfort- 
able salaries!" 

"Veil,  vat  you  expect?"  cried  Korwsky.  "You  git  de 
verkin'  men  into  politics,  and  den  you  blame  dem  fer 
bein'  politicians  I" 

"Nothing  was  said  about  returning  the  money,  I  sup- 
pose ?"  remarked  Everett,  in  a  bitter  tone. 

"Something  was  said,"  I  replied.  "I  said  it.  I  don't 
think  the  money  will  be  returned." 

Then  Carpenter  spoke.  "The  money  was  given  to 
feed  the  hungry,"  said  he.  "If  it  is  used  for  that  pur- 
pose, we  can  ask  no  more.  And  if  men  set  out  to  preach 
a  new  doctrine,  how  can  they  expect  to  be  welcomed  at 
once?  We  have  chosen  to  be  outcasts,  and  must  not 
complain.  Let  us  go  to  the  jail.  Perhaps  that  is  the  place 
for  us."  So  the  little  group  set  out  in  a  new  direction. 

On  the  way  we  talked  about  the  labor  movement,  and 
what  was  the  matter  with  it.  Comrade  Abell  said  that 
Carpenter  was  right,  the  fundamental  trouble  was  that 
the  workers  were  imbued  with  the  psychology  of  their 
masters.  They  would  strike  for  this  or  that  improve- 
ment in  their  condition,  and  then  go  to  the  polls  and 
vote  for  the  candidates  of  their  masters.  But  Korwsky 
was  more  vehement;  he  was  an  industrial  unionist,  and 
thought  the  present  craft  unions  worse  than  nothing. 

160 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  161 

Little  groups  of  labor  aristocrats,  seking  to  benefit  them- 
selves at  the  expense  of  the  masses,  the  unorganized,  un- 
skilled workers  and  the  floating  population  of  casual 
labor!  That  was  why  those  "skates"  at  the  Labor 
Temple  has  so  little  enthusiasm  for  Carpenter  and  his 
doctrine  of  brotherhood!  In  this  country  where  every 
man  was  trying  to  climb  up  on  the  face  of  some  other  man ! 

Our  little  group  had  come  out  on  Broadway.  It  at- 
tracted a  good  deal  of  attention,  and  a  number  of  cu- 
riosity seekers  were  beginning  to  trail  behind  us.  "We'll 
get  a  crowd  again,  and  Carpenter  '11  be  making  a  speech," 
I  thought ;  and  as  usual  I  faced  a  moral  conflict.  Should 
I  stand  by,  or  should  I  sneak  away,  and  preserve  the 
dignity  of  my  family? 

Suddenly  came  a  sound  of  music,  fifes  and  drums.  It 
burst  on  our  ears  from  round  the  corner,  shrill  and  lively 
— "The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me."  Carpenter,  who  was 
directly  in  front  of  me,  stopped  short,  and  seemed  to 
shrink  away  from  what  was  coming,  until  his  back  was 
against  the  show-window  of  a  department-store,  and  he 
could  shrink  no  further. 

It  was  a  company  of  ex-seivice  men  in  uniform;  one 
or  two  hundred,  tarrying  rifles  with  fixed  bayonets  which 
gleamed  in  the  sunshine.  There  were  two  fifers  and 
two  drummers  at  their  head,  and  also  two  flags,  one  the 
flag  of  the  Brigade,  and  the  other  the  flag  of  Mobland. 
I  remembered  having  noted  in  the  morning  papers  that 
the  national  commander  of  the  brigade  was  to  arrive  in 
town  this  morning,  and  no  doubt  this  was  a  delegation 
to  do  him  honor. 

The  marchers  swept  down  on  us,  and  past  us,  and  I 
watched  the  prophet.  His  eyes  were  wide,  his  whole 
face  expressing  anguish,  "Oh  God,  my  Father!"  he 


162  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

whispered,  and  seemed  to  quiver  with  each  thud  of  the 
tramping  feet  on  the  pavement  After  the  storm  had 
passed,  he  stood  motionless,  the  pain  still  in  his  face. 
"It  is  Rome !  It  is  Rome !"  he  murmured. 

"No,"  said  I,  "it  is  Mobland." 

He  went  on,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  me.  "Rome! 
Eternal  Rome !  Rome  that  never  dies !"  And  he  turned 
upon  me  his  startled  eyes.  "Even  the  eagles!" 

For  a  moment  I  was  puzzled;  but  then  I  remembered 
the  golden  eagle  with  wings  outspread,  that  perches  on 
top  of  our  national  banner.  "We  only  use  one  eagle," 
I  said,  somewhat  feebly. 

To  which  he  answered,  "The  soul  of  one  eagle  is  the 
same  as  the  soul  of  two." 

Now,  I  had  felt  quite  certain  that  Carpenter  would  not 
get  along  very  well  with  the  Brigade,  and  I  was  more 
than  ever  decided  that  he  must  be  got  out  of  the  way 
somehow  or  other.  But  meantime,  the  first  task  was  to 
get  him  away  from  this  crowd  which  was  rapidly  col- 
lecting. Already  he  was  in  the  full  tide  of  a  speech. 
"Those  sharp  spears !  Can  you  not  see  them  thrust  into 
the  bowels  of  human  beings?  Can  you  not  see  them 
dripping  with  the  blood  of  your  brothers?" 

I  whispered  to  Everett,  thinking  him  one  among  this 
company  of  enthusiasts  who  might  have  a  little  common 
sense  left.  "We  had  better  get  him  away  from  here!" 
And  Everett  put  his  hand  gently  on  the  prophet's 
shoulder,  and  said,  "The  prisoners  in  the  jail  are  hoping 
for  us."  I  took  him  by  the  other  arm,  and  we  began 
to  lead  him  down  the  street.  When  we  had  once  got 
him  going,  we  walked  him  faster  and  faster,  until  pres- 
ently the  crowd  was  trailing  out  into  a  string  of  idlers 
and  curiosity  seekers,  as  before. 


XLVI 

The  party  £ame  to  the  city  jail,  and  knocked  for  ad- 
mission. But  no  doubt  the  authorities  had  taken  con- 
sultation in  the  meantime,  and  there  was  no  admission 
for  prophets.  The  party  stood  on  the  steps,  baffled  and 
bewildered,  a  pitiful  and  pathetic  little  group. 

For  my  part,  I  thought  it  just  as  well  that  Carpenter 
had  not  got  inside,  for  I  knew  what  he  would  find  there. 
It  happens  that  my  Aunt  Jennie  belongs  to  a  couple  of 
women's  clubs,  and  they  have  been  making  a  fuss  about 
our  city  jail;  they  have  kept  on  making  it  for  many 
years,  but  apparently  without  accomplishing  anything. 
The  place  was  built  a  generation  ago,  for  a  city  of  per- 
haps one-tenth  our  present  size ;  it  is  old  and  musty,  and 
the  walls  are  so  badly  cracked  that  it  has  been  condemned 
by  the  building  department.  It  is  so  crowded  that  half 
a  dozen  men  sometimes  sleep  on  the  floor  of  a  single 
cell.  They  are  devoured  by  vermin,  and  lie  in  semi- 
darkness,  some  of  them  shivering  with  cold  and  others 
half  suffocated.  They  stay  there,  sometimes  for  many 
months  unheeded,  because  the  Courts  are  crowded,  and 
if  Comrade  Abell's  word  may  be  taken  in  the  matter, 
every  poor  man  is  assumed  .to  be  guilty  until  he  is  proven 
innocent.  I  have  heard  Aunt  Jennie  arguing  the  matter 
with  considerable  energy.  Our  banks  are  housed  in 
palaces,  and  our  Chamber  of  Commerce  and  our  Mer- 
chants and  Manufacturers  and  our  Real  Estate  Exchange 
and  all  the  rest  of  our  boosters  have  commodious  and 
expensive  quarters ;  but  our  prisoners  lie  in  torment,  and 
no  one  boosts  for  them. 

163 


164  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

Did  Carpenter  know  these  things?  Had  the  strikers, 
or  his  little  company  of  agitators,  told  him  about  them? 
Suddenly  he  said,  "Let  us  pray ;"  and  there  on  the  steps 
of  the  jail  he  raised  his  hands  in  invocation,  and  prayed 
for  all  prisoners  and  captives.  And  when  he  finished, 
Comrade  Abell  suddenly  lifted  his  voice  and  began  to 
sing.  I  would  not  have  supposed  that  so  big  a  voice 
could  have  come  out  of  so  frail  a  body;  but  I  was  re- 
minded that  Abell  had  been  practicing  on  soap-boxes  a 
good  part  of  his  life.  He  was  one  of  these  shouting 
evangelists — only  his  gospel  was  different.  He  sang: 

Arise,   ye  prisoners   of   starvation! 

Arise,  ye  wretched  of  the  earth ! 
For  justice  thunders  condemnation, 

A  better  world's  in  birth. 

I  think  I  would  have  shuddered,  even  more  than  I  did, 
if  I  had  known  the  name  of  this  song;  if  I  had  realized 
that  this  group  of  fanatics  were  sounding  the  dread  In- 
ternationale on  the  steps  of  our  city  jail !  I  suspect  that 
what  saved  them  was  the  fact  that  the  guardians  of  the 
jail  had  no  more  idea  what  it  was  than  I  had ! 

The  group  had  sung  a  couple  of  verses,  when  the  iron- 
barred  doors  were  opened,  and  a  policeman  stepped  out. 
He  addressed  Carpenter,  who  was  not  singing.  "Tell 
that  bunch  of  nuts  of  yours  to  can  the  yowling." 

To  which  Carpenter  replied :  "I  tell  you  that  if  these 
men  should  hold  their  peace,  the  stones  of  your  jail  would 
immediately  cry  out!"  And  he  turned,  and  looked  up 
and  down  the  streets  of  the  city,  and  suddenly  I  saw 
that  he  was  weeping.  "Oh,  Mobland,  Mobland !  If  you 
had  known  even  at  this  time  the  way  of  justice!  But 
the  way  is  hid  from  your  eyes,  and  you  will  not  see  it, 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  165 

and  now  the  hour  is  coming,  the  horrors  of  the  class  war 
are  upon  you,  ruin  and  destruction  are  at  hand!  Your 
towers  of  pride  shall  fall,  your  own  children  shall  de- 
stroy you;  they  shall  not  leave  you  one  stone  upon  an- 
other, because  you  knew  not  the  time  for  justice  when 
it  came." 

The  doors  of  the  jail  opened  again,  and  three  or  four 
more  policemen  came  out,  with  clubs  in  their  hands. 
"Get  along,  now!"  they  said  roughly,  and  began  poking 
the  prophet  and  his  disciples  in  the  back;  they  poked 
them  down  the  stairs  and  along  the  street  for  a  block  or 
so — until  they  were  sure  the  ears  of  the  jail  inmates 
would  no  longer  be  troubled  by  offensive  sounds.  But 
still  they  did  not  arrest  them,  and  I  marveled,  wonder- 
ing how  long  it  could  go  on.  I  had  an  uneasy  feeling 
that  the  longer  the  climax  was  postponed,  the  more 
severe  it  would  be. 

There  was  quite  a  crowd  following  us  now,  hoping 
that  something  sensational  would  happen.  And  pres- 
ently a  woman  saw  us,  and  rushed  into  the  house,  and 
came  out  leading  a  blind  man,  and  appealing  to  Carpen- 
ter to  restore  his  sight ;  and  when  he  stopped  to  do  this, 
there  were  a  couple  of  newspaper  men,  and  an  operator 
with  a  camera,  and  more  excitement  and  more  crowds! 
So  we  started  to  walk  again,  and  came  to  Main  Street, 
which  in  our  city  is  given  up  to  ten  cent  picture-shows, 
and  pawn-brokers,  and  old  clothes  shops,  and  eating- 
stands  for  workingmen.  A  block  or  so  distant  we  saw 
a  mass  of  people,  and  something  warned  me — my  heart 
sank  into  my  boots.  Another  mob ! 


XLVII 

There  was  shouting,  and  people  running  from  every 
direction.  The  throng  would  surge  back,  and  a  few  run 
from  it.  "What's  the  matter?"  I  cried  to  one  of  these, 
and  the  answer  was,  "They're  cleaning  out  the  reds!" 
Comrade  Abell,  who  knew  the  neighborhood,  exclaimed 
in  dismay,  "It's  Erman's  Book  Store !" 

"Who's  doing  this?"  I  asked  of  another  bystander,  and 
the  answer  was,  "The  Brigade!  They're  (cleaning  up 
the  city  before  the  convention!"  And  Comrade  Abell 
clasped  his  hands  to  his  forehead,  and  wailed  in  despair, 
"It's  because  they've  been  selling  the  'Liberator' !  Erman 
told  me  last  week  he'd  been  warned  to  stop  selling  it!" 

Now,  I  don't  know  whether  or  not  Carpenter  had  ever 
heard  of  this  radical  monthly.  But  he  knew  that  here 
was  a  mob,  and  people  in  trouble,  and  he  shook  off  the 
hands  which  sought  to  restrain  him,  and  pushed  his  way 
into  the  throng,  which  gave  way  before  him,  either  from 
respect  or  from  curiosity.  I  learned  later  that  some  of 
the  mob  had  dragged  the  bookseller  and  his  two  clerks 
out  by  the  rear  entrance,  and  were  beating  them  pretty 
severely.  But  fortunately  Carpenter  did  not  see  this. 
All  he  saw  were  a  dozen  or  so  ex-soldiers  in  uniform 
carrying  armfuls  of  magazines  and  books  out  into  a 
little  /  square,  which  was  made  by  the  oblique  intersec- 
tion of  two  avenues.  They  were  dumping  the  stuff  into 
a  pile,  and  a  man  with  a  five  gallon  can  was  engaged  in 
pouring  kerosene  over  it. 

"My  friend,"  said  Carpenter,  "what  is  this  that  you  do?" 

The  other  turned  upon  him  and  stared.  "What  the 

166 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  167 

hell  you  got  to  do  with  it  ?  Get  out  of  the  way  there !" 
And  to  emphasize  his  words  he  slopped  a  jet  of  kerosene 
over  the  prophet's  robes. 

Said  Carpenter:  "Do  you  know  what  a  book  is?  One 
of  your  poets  has  described  it  as  the  precious  life-blood 
of  a  great  spirit,  embalmed  and  preserved  to  all  pos- 
terity." 

The  other  laughed  scornfully.  "Was  he  talkin'  about 
Bolsheviki  books,  you  reckon?" 

Said  Carpenter:  "Are  you  one  that  should  be  set  to 
judge  books?  Have  you  read  these  that  you  are  about 
to  destroy?"  And  as  the  other,  paying  no  attention, 
knelt  down  to  strike  a  match  and  light  the  pyre,  he  cried, 
in  a  louder  voice:  "Behold  what  a  thing  is  war!  You 
have  been  trained  to  kill  your  fellow  men ;  the  beast  has 
been  let  loose  in  your  heart,  and  he  raves  within !" 

"One  of  these  God-damn  pacifists,  eh?"  cried  the  ex- 
soldier;  and  he  dropped  his  matches  and  sprang  up  with 
fists  clenched.  Carpenter  faced  him  without  flinching; 
there  was  something  so  majestic  about  him,  the  man 
did  not  strike  him,  he  merely  put  his  spread  hand  against 
the  prophet's  chest  and  shoved  him  violently.  "Get 
back  out  of  the  way !" 

I  well  knew  the  risk  I  was  taking,  but  I  could  not 
refrain.  "Now,  look  here,  buddy!"  I  began;  and  the 
soldier  whirled  upon  me.  "You  one  of  these  Huns,  too?" 

"I  was  all  through  the  Argonne,"  I  said  qui'ckly.  "And 
I  belong  to  the  Brigade." 

"Oh  ho!  Well,  pitch  in  here,  and  help  carry  out  this 
bloody  Arnychist  literature!" 

I  was  about  to  answer,  but  Carpenter's  voice  rang  out 
again.  He  had  turned  and  stretched  out  his  arms  to  the 
crowd,  and  we  both  stopped  to  listen  to  his  words. 


168  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

"Shall  ye  be  wolves,  or  shall  ye  be  men?  That  is  the 
choice,  and  ye  have  chosen  wolfhood.  The  blood  of  your 
brothers  is  upon  your  hands,  and  murder  in  your  hearts. 
You  have  trained  your  young  men  to  be  killers  of  their 
brothers,  and  now  they  know  only  the  law  of  madness," 

There  were  a  dozen  ex-doughboys  in  sound  of  this 
discourse,  and  I  judged  they  would  not  stand  much  of 
it.  Suddenly  one  of  them  began  to  chant;  and  the  rest 
took  it  up,  half  laughing,  half  shouting: 

Rough !    Tough ! 

We're  the  stuff! 

We  want  to  fight  and  we  can't  get  enough ! 
And  after  that: 

Hail !     Hail !     The  gang's  all  here  i 

We're  going  to  get  the  Kaiser ! 

The  crowd  joined  in,  and  the  words  of  the  prophet 
were  completely  drowned  out.  A  moment  later  I  heard 
a  gruff  voice  behind  me.  "Make  way  here!"  There 
came  a  policeman,  shoving  through.  "What's  all  this 
about?" 

The  fellow  with  the  kerosene  can  spoke  up:  "Here's 
this  damn  Arnychist  prophet  been  incitin'  the  crowd  and 
preachin'  sedition!  You  better  take  him  along,  officer, 
and  put  him  somewhere  he'll  be  safe,  because  me  and 
my  buddies  won't  stand  no  more  Bolsheviki  rantinV 

It  seemed  ludicrous  when  I  looked  back  upon  it; 
though  at  the  moment  I  did  not  appreciate  the  funny 
side.  Here  was  a  group  of  men  engaged  in  raiding  a 
book-store,  beating  up  the  proprietor  and  his  clerks,  and 
burning  a  thousand  dollars  worth  of  books  and  magazines 
on  the  public  street;  but  the  policeman  did  not  see  a 
bit  of  that,  he  had  no  idea  that  any  such  thing  was  hap- 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  169 

pening!  All  he  saw  was  a  prophet,  in  a  white  night- 
gown dripping  with  kerosene,  engaged  in  denouncing 
war!  He  took  him  firmly  by  the  arm,  saying,  "Come 
along  now!  I  guess  we've  heard  enough  o'  this;"  and 
he  started  to  march  Carpenter  down  the  street. 

"Take  me  too !"  tried  Moneta,  the  Mexican,  beside 
himself  with  excitement;  and  the  policeman  grabbed 
him  with  the  other  hand,  and  the  three  set  out  to  march. 


XLVIII 

I  no  longer  had  any  impulse  to  interfere.  In  truth,  I 
was  glad  to  see  the  policeman,  considering  that  his  worst 
might  be  better  than  the  mob's  best.  About  half  the 
crowd  followed  us,  but  the  singing  died  away,  and  that 
gave  Comrade  Abell  his  chance.  He  was  walking 
directly  behind  the  policeman,  and  suddenly  he  raised 
his  voice,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  way  to  the  station-house 
he  provided  marching  tunes :  first  the  Internationale,  and 
then  the  Reg  Flag,  and  then  the  Marseillaise: 
Ye  sons  of  toil,  awake  to  glory! 

Hark,  hark !    What  myriads  bids  you  rise ! 
Your  children,  wives,  and  grand  sires  hoary — 
Behold  their  tears  and  hear  their  cries ! 

When  we  came  to  the  station  house,  the  policeman 
gave  Moneta  a  shove  and  told  him  to  get  along;  he  had 
not  done  anything,  and  was  denied  the  honor  of  being 
arrested.  The  officer  pushed  Carpenter  through  the 
door,  and  bade  the  rest  of  us  keep  out. 

Said  Abell:     "I  am  an  attorney." 

"The  hell  you  are!"  said  the  other.  "I  thought  you 
were  an  opery  singer." 

"I'm  a  practicing  attorney,"  said  Abell,  "and  I  repre- 
sent the  man  you  have  arrested.  I  presume  I  have  a 
right  to  enter." 

"And  I  am  a  prospective  bondsman,"  I  stated,  with 
sudden  inspiration.  "So  let  me  in  also." 

We  entered,  and  the  policeman  led  his  prisoner  to  the 
sergeant  at  the  desk.  The  latter  asked  the  charge,  and 
was  told,  "Disturbing  the  peace  and  blocking  traffic." 

"Now,  sergeant,"  said  I,  "this  is  preposterous.    All 

170 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

this  prisoner  did  was  to  try  to  stop  a  mob  from  destroy- 
ing property." 

"You  can  tell  all  that  to  the  magistrate  in  the  morn- 
ing/' said  the  sergeant. 

"What  is  the  bail  ?"  I  demanded. 

"You  are  prepared  to  put  up  bail  ?" 

I  answered  that  I  was;  and  then  for  the  first  time 
Carpenter  spoke.  "You  mean  you  wish  to  pay  money  to 
secure  my  release?  Let  there  be  no  money  paid  for  me." 

"Let  me  explain,  Mr.  Carpenter,"  I  pleaded.  "You 
will  accomplish  nothing  by  spending  the  night  in  a  police 
cell.  You  will  have  no  opportunity  to  talk  with  the 
prisoners.  They  will  keep  you  by  yourself." 

He  answered,  "My  Father  will  be  with  me."  And 
gazing  into  the  face  of  the  sergeant,  he  demanded,  "Do 
you  think  you  can  build  a  cell  to  which  my  Father  can- 
not tome?" 

The  officer  was  an  old  hand,  with  a  fringe  of  grey 
hair  around  his  bald  head,  and  no  doubt  he  had  been 
asked  many  queer  questions  in  his  day.  His  response 
was  to  inquire  the  prisoner's  name;  and  when  the  pris- 
oner kept  haughty  silence,  he  wrote  down  "John  Doe 
Carpenter,"  and  proceeded :  "Where  do  you  live  ?" 

Said  Carpenter:  "The  foxes  have  holes,  and  the  birds 
of  the  air  have  nests,  but  he  that  espouses  the  cause  of 
justice  has  no  home  in  a  world  of  greed." 

So  the  sergeant  wrote :  "No  address,"  and  nodded  to 
a  jailer,  who  took  the  prophet  by  the  arm  and  led  him 
away  through  a  steel-barred  door. 

Abell  and  I  went  outside  and  joined  the  rest  of  the 
group.  None  of  us  knew  just  what  to  do — with  the  ex- 
ception of  Everett,  who  sat  on  the  steps  with  his  note- 
book, and  made  me  repeat  to  him  word  for  word  what 

Carpenter  had  said! 
12 


XLIX 

Comrade  Abell  told  us  where  the  police-court  was 
located,  and  we  agreed  to  be  there  at  nine  o'clock  next 
morning.  Then  I  parted  from  the  rest,  and  walked  until 
I  met  a  taxi  and  drove  to  my  rooms. 

I  felt  desolate  and  forlorn.  Nothing  in  my  old  life 
had  any  interest  for  me.  This  was  the  afternoon  when 
I  usually  went  to  the  Athletic  Club  to  box;  but  now  I 
found  myself  wondering,  what  would  Carpenter  say  to 
such  imitation  fighting?  I  decided  I  would  stay  by  my- 
self for  a  while,  and  take  a  walk  and  think  things  over. 
I  had  been  dissatisfied  with  my  life  for  a  long  time;  the 
glamor  had  begun  to  wear  off  the  excitement  of  youth, 
and  I  had  begun  to  suspect  that  my  life  was  idle  and 
vain.  Now  I  knew  that  it  was:  and  also  I  knew  that 
the  world  was  a  place  of  torment  and  woe. 

I  returned  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  a  few  minutes 
afterwards  my  telephone  rang,  and  I  discovered  that 
somebody  else  was  dissatisfied  with  life. 

"Hello,  Billy,"  said  the  voice  of  T-S.  "I  see  dat  feller 
Carpenter  is  in  jail.  Vy  don't  you  bail  him  out?" 

"He  won't  let  me,"  I  said. 

"Veil,  maybe  it  might  be  a  good  ting  to  leave  him  in 
jail  a  veek,  till  dis  Brigade  convention  gits  over." 

"Funny!"  said  I.     "I  had  the  same  idea!" 

"Listen,"  continued  the  other,  "I  been  feelin*  awful 
bad  because  I  told  dem  fellers  I  didn't  know  him.  D' 
you  suppose  he  knows  I  said  dat,  Billy?" 

"Well,"  said  I,  "he  knew  you  were  going  to  say  it,  so 
probably  he  knows  you  said  it." 

172 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  173 

"Veil,"  said  T-S,  "maybe  you  laugh  at  me,  but  I  been 
tinkin'  I  tell  dem  fellows  to  go  to  hell." 

"What  fellows?" 

"De  whole  damn  vorld!  Billy,  I  like  dat  feller  Car- 
penter !  I  never  met  a  feller  like  him  before.  You  tink 
he  vould  let  me  go  to  see  him  in  de  jail?" 

"I'm  sure  he'd  be  glad  to  see  you,"  I  said;  "if  the 
jailers  didn't  object." 

"Sure,  I  fix  de  jailers  all  right !" 

"But  T-S,"  I  added,  "I  don't  believe  he'll  sign  any 
contract." 

"Contract  nuttin',"  said  T-S.  "I  shoost  vant  to  see 
him,  Billy.  Is  dere  anyting  I  could  do  fer  him?" 

I  thought  for  a  moment ;  then  I  said :  "You  might  do 
something  for  one  of  his  friends,  and  that's  young 
Everett.  He  got  pretty  badly  hurt,  and  he's  sticking 
at  the  job  of  taking  down  all  Carpenter's  speeches.  He 
ought  to  have  a  surgeon,  and  also  a  first  class  steno- 
grapher to  take  turns  with  him.  Have  you  got  another 
man  like  him?" 

"I  dunno,"  said  T-S.  "You  don't  find  a  young  feller 
like  Matt  Everett  everyday." 

I  started.     "What  do  you  say  is  his  name?" 

"Matthew,"  said  T-S.     "Vy  you  ask?" 

"Nothing,"  said  I ;  "just  a  coincidence !" 

Our  conversation  ended  with  the  remark  by  T-S  that 
he  would  call  up  the  station-house  and  arrange  to  see 
Carpenter.  Five  minutes  later  the  telephone  rang  again, 
and  I  heard  the  magnate's  voice:  "Billy,  dey  say  he's 
been  bailed  out!" 

"What?"  I  cried.  "He  declared  he  wouldn't  have  it 
done." 

"Somebody  done  it  vitout  askin'  him !  De  money  vas 
paid,  and  dey  turned  him  out!" 


174  THEY  CAUL,  ME  CABPENTER, 

"Who  did  it?" 

"Guess !" 

"You  mean  it  was  you?" 

"I  vouldn't  'a  dared.  I  only  shoost  found  out  about 
it.  Mary  Magna  done  it,  and  she's  took  him  avay  some- 
vere." 

"Good  Lord!"  I  exclaimed;  and  before  my  mind's  eye 
flashed  another  headline: 

FAIR  FILM  STAR  FREES  LOVE-CULT 
PROPHET 

I  promised  to  try  to  find  out  about  the  prophet  at  once. 
"He  won't  get  away,"  I  said,  "because  he  doesn't  ride 
in  automobiles,  and  he  and  Mary  can't  walk  very  far  on 
the  street  without  the  newspapers  finding  them!" 

I  took  my  telephone-book,  and  looked  up  the  name 
Abell.  It  is  an  unusual  name,  and  there  was  only  one 
attorney  bearing  it.  (I  was  struck  by  the  fact  that  the 
first  name  of  this  attorney  was  Mark.)  I  called  him  on 
the  phone,  and  heard  the  familiar  gentle  voice.  Yes, 
Comrade  Carpenter  had  just  arrived,  and  Miss  Magna 
was  with  him.  They  were  going  to  have  a  little  party, 
and  they  would  be  glad  to  have  me  come.  Yes,  Mr. 
T-S  would  be  welcome,  of  course.  So  then  I  called  up 
the  magnate  of  the  pictures,  and  not  without  an  inward 
smile,  conferred  on  him  the  gracious  permission  to  spend 
the  evening  at  the  headquarters  of  Local  Western  City 
of  the  Socialist  Party ! 


When  I  got  to  the  meeting-place  I  found  that  a  feast 
had  been  spread.  I  don't  know  where  the  money  came 
from;  maybe  it  was  Bolshevik  gold,  as  the  enemy 
charged,  or  maybe  it  was  the  ill-gotten  gains  of  a  "mil- 
lion dollar  movie  vamp."  Anyhow,  there  was  a  table 
spread  with  a  couple  of  cloths  that  were  clean,  if  ragged, 
and  on  them  flowers  and  fruit.  Carpenter  was  seated 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  I  noted  to  my  surprise  that 
he  had  on  a  beautiful  robe  of  snow-white  linen,  instead 
of  the  one  he  had  formerly  worn,  which  was  not  only 
stained  with  kerosene  but  filthy  with  the  dust  of  the 
streets.  I  learned  that  Mrs.  T-S  had  brought  this  festal 
garment — a  simple  matter  for  her,  because  in  movie 
studios  they  have  wardrobe  rooms  where  they  turn  out 
any  sort  of  costume  imaginable. 

This  robe  was  so  striking  that  it  created  a  little  con- 
troversy. James,  the  carpenter,  who  had  an  ascetic 
spirit,  considered  it  necessary  to  speak  plainly,  and  point 
out  that  Mrs.  T-S  would  have  done  better  to  take  the 
money  and  give  it  to  the  poor.  But  the  prophet  an- 
swered :  "Let  this  woman  alone.  She  has  done  a  good 
thing.  The  poor  you  have  always  with  you,  but  me 
you  have  only  for  a  short  time.  This  woman  has  helped 
to  make  our  feast  happy,  and  men  will  tell  about  it  in 
future  years." 

But  that  did  not  satisfy  the  ascetic  James,  who  retired 
to  his  corner  grumbling.  "I  know,  we're  going  to  start 
a  new  church — the  same  old  graft  all  over  again!  A 
man  has  no  business  to  say  a  thing  like  that.  The  first 

175 


176  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

thing  you  know,  they'll  be  taking  the  widow's  mite  to 
buy  silk  and  velvet  dresses  for  him  and  golden  goblets 
for  him  to  drink  from !  And  then,  before  you  know  it, 
they'll  be  setting  him  up  in  stained  glass  windows,  and 
priests'll  be  wearing  jewelled  robes,  and  saying  it's  all 
right,  and  quoting  his  words!"  I  perceived  that  it 
wasn't  so  easy  for  a  prophet  to  manage  a  bunch  of  dis- 
ciples in  these  modern  days! 

The  controversy  did  not  seem  to  trouble  Mrs.  T-S, 
who  was  waddling  about,  perfectly  happy  in  the  kitchen 
— doing  the  things  she  would  have  done  all  the  time,  if 
her  husband's  social  position  had  not  required  her  to 
keep  a  dozen  servants.  Also,  I  noted  to  my  great  as- 
tonishment that  Mary  Magna,  instead  of  taking  a  place 
at  the  prophet's  right  hand,  according  to  the  prerogative 
of  queens,  had  put  on  a  plain  apron  and  was  helping 
"Maw"  and  Mrs.  Abell.  More  surprising  yet,  T-S  had 
seated  himself  inconspicuously  at  the  foot  of  the  table, 
while  at  the  prophet's  right  hand  there  sat  a  convict 
with  a  twenty  year  jail  sentence  hanging  over  him — 
John  Colver,  the  "wobbly"  poet!  Again  an  antient 
phrase  learned  in  childhood  came  floating  through  my 
mind:  "He  hath  put  down  the  mighty  from  their  seats, 
and  exalted  them  of  low  degree !" 

Somehow  word  had  been  got  to  all  the  little  group  of 
agitators  of  various  shades.  There  was  Korwsky,  the 
secretary  of  the  tailors'  union — whose  first  name  I  learned 
was  Luka;  also  his  fellow  Russian,  the  express-driverf 
Simon  Karlin,  and  Tom  Moneta,  the  young  Mexican 
cigar-maker.  There  was  Matthew  Everett,  free  to  be 
a  guest  on  this  occasion,  because  T-S  had  brought  along 
another  stenographer.  There  was  Mark  Abell,  and 
another  Socialist,  a  young  Irishman  named  Andy  Lynch, 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  177 

a  veteran  of  the  late  war  who  had  come  home  com- 
pletely cured  of  militarism,  and  was  now  spending  his 
time  distributing  Socialist  leaflets,  and  preaching  to  the 
workers  wherever  he  could  get  two  or  three  to  listen. 
Also  there  was  Hamby,  the  pacifist  whom  I  did  not  like, 
and  a  second  I.  W.  W.,  brought  by  Colver — a  lad  named 
Philip,  who  had  recently  been  indicted  by  the  grand 
jury,  and  was  at  this  moment  a  fugitive  from  justice  with 
a  price  upon  his  head. 

The  door  of  the  room  was  opened,  and  another  man 
came  in;  a  striking  figure,  tall  and  gaunt,  with  old  and 
pitifully  untidy  clothing,  and  a  half  month's  growth  of 
beard  upon  his  chin.  He  wore  an  old  black  hat,  frayed 
at  the  edges ;  but  under  this  hat  was  a  face  of  such  gen- 
tleness and  sadness  that  it  made  you  think  of  Carpen- 
ter's own.  Withal,  it  was  a  Yankee  face — of  that  lean, 
stringy  kind  that  we  know  so  well.  The  newcomer's 
eyes  fell  upon  Carpenter,  and  his  face  lighted;  he  set 
down  an  old  carpet-bag  that  he  was  carrying,  and 
stretched  out  his  two  hands,  and  went  to  him.  "Car- 
penter !  I've  been  looking  for  you !" 

And  Carpenter  answered,  "My  brother !"  And  the  two 
clasped  hands,  and  I  thought  to  myself  with  astonish- 
ment, "How  does  Carpenter  know  this  man?" 

Presently  I  whispered  to  Abell,  "Who  is  he?"  I 
learned  that  he  was  one  I  had  heard  of  in  the  papers — 
Bartholomew  Howard,  the  "millionaire  hobo;"  he  was 
grandson  and  heir  of  one  of  our  great  captains  of  indus- 
try, and  had  taken  literally  the  advice  of  the  prophet,  to 
sell  all  that  he  had  and  give  it  to  the  unemployed.  He 
traveled  over  the  'country,  living  among  the  hobos  and 
organizing  them  into  his  Brotherhood.  Now  you  would 
have  thought  that  he  and  Carpenter  had  known  each 


178  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

other  all  their  lives;  as  I  watched  them,  I  found  myself 
thinking:  "Where  are  the  clergy  and  the  pillars  of  St. 
Bartholomew's  Church?"  There  were  none  of  them  at 
this  supper-party! 


LI 

T-S  had  stopped  at  a  caterer's  on  his  way  to  the  gath- 
ering, and  had  done  his  humble  best  in  the  form  of  a 
strawberry  short-cake  almost  half  as  large  around  as 
himself;  also  several  bottles  of  purple  color,  with  the 
label  of  grape  juice.  When  the  company  gathered  at  the 
table  and  these  bottles  were  opened,  they  made  a  sus- 
picious noise,  and  so  we  all  made  jokes,  as  people  have 
the  habit  of  doing  in  these  days  of  getting  used  to  pro- 
hibition. I  noticed  that  Carpenter  laughed  at  the  jokes, 
and  seemed  to  enjoy  the  whole  festivity. 

It  happened  that  fate  had  placed  me  next  to  James, 
so  I  listened  to  more  asceticism.  "He  oughtn't  to  do 
things  like  this!  People  will  say  he  likes  to  eat  rich 
food  and  to  drink.  It's  bad  for  the  movement  for  such 
things  to  be  said." 

"Cheer  up,  my  friend !"  I  laughed.  "Even  the  Bolshe- 
viks have  a  feast  now  and  then,  when  they  can  get  it." 

"You'll  see  what  the  newspapers  do  with  this  tomor- 
row," growled  the  other;  "then  you  won't  think  it  so 
funny." 

"Forget  it!"  I  said.  "There  aren't  any  reporters 
here." 

"No,"  said  he,  "but  there  are  spies  here,  you  may  be 
sure.  There  are  spies  everywhere,  nowadays.  You'll 
see !" 

Presently  Carpenter  called  on  some  of  the  company 
for  speeches.  Would  Bartholomew  tell  about  the  un- 
employed, what  their  organization  was  doing,  and  what 
were  their  plans?  And  after  that  he  asked  John  Colver, 

179 


180  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

who  sat  on  his  right  hand,  to  recite  some  of  his  verses. 
John  and  his  friend  Philip,  a  blue  eyed,  freckle-faced  lad 
who  looked  as  if  he  might  be  in  high  school,  told  stories 
about  the  adventures  of  outlaw  agitators.  For  several 
months  these  two  had  been  traveling  the  country  as 
"blanket  stiffs,"  securing  employment  in  lumber-camps 
and  mines,  gathering  the  workers  secretly  in  the  woods 
to  listen  to  the  new  gospel  of  deliverance.  The  employ- 
ers were  organized  on  a  nation-wide  scale  everywhere 
throughout  the  Country,  and  the  workers  with  their 
feeble  craft  unions  were  like  men  using  bows  and  arrows 
against  machine-guns.  There  must  be  One  Big  Union — 
that  was  the  slogan,  and  if  you  preached  it,  you  went 
every  hour  in  peril  of  such  a  fate  that  you  counted  four- 
teen years  in  jail  as  comparatively  a  happy  ending. 

Said  Carpenter:  "It  is  not  such  a  bad  thing  for  a 
cause  to  have  its  preachers  go  to  jail." 

"Well,"  said  the  lad  of  the  blue  eyes  and  the  freckled 
face,  "we  try  to  keep  a  few  outside,  to  tell  what  the  rest 
are  in  for!" 

Later  on,  I  remember,  John  Colver  told  a  funny  story 
about  this  pal  of  his.  The  story  had  to  do  with  grape 
juice  instead  of  with  propaganda,  but  it  appealed  to  me 
because  it  showed  the  gay  spirit  of  these  lads.  The  two 
of  them  had  sought  refuge  from  a  storm  in  a  barn,  and 
there,  lying  buried  in  the  hay  with  the  rain  pouring  down 
on  the  roof,  they  had  heard  the  farmer  coming  to  milk 
his  cows.  The  man  had  evidently  just  parted  from 
his  wife,  and  there  had  been  a  quarrel;  but  the  farmer 
hadn't  dared  to  say  what  he  wanted  to,  so  now  he  took 
it  out  on  the  cows!  "Na!  na!  na!"  he  shouted,  with 
furious  vehemence.  "That's  it !  Go  on !  Nag,  nag,  nag ! 
Pon't  stop,  or  I  might  manage  to  get  a  word  in!  Yes, 


THEY  CALL  ME  CABPENTER 

I'm  late,  of  course  I'm  late  Do  you  expect  me  to  drive 
by  the  clock?  Maybe  I  did  forget  the  sugar!  Maybe 
I've  got  nothing  on  my  mind  but  errands!  Whiskey? 
Maybe  it's  whiskey,  and  maybe  it's  gin,  and  maybe  it's 
grape-juice!"  The  farmer  set  down  his  milk-pail  and 
his  lantern,  and  shook  his  clenched  fist  at  the  patient 
cattle.  "I'm  a  man,  I  am,  and  I'll  have  you  understand 
I'm  master  in  my  own  house!  I'll  drink  if  I  feel  like 
drinking,  I'll  stop  and  chat  with  my  neighbors  if  I  feel 
like  stopping,  I'll  buy  sugar  if  I  remember  to  buy  it,  and 
if  you  don't  like  it,  you  can  buy  your  own !"  And  so  on 
— becoming  more  inspired  with  his  own  eloquence — or 
maybe  with  the  whiskey,  or  the  gin,  or  the  grape-juice; 
until  young  Philip  became  so  filled  with  the  spirit  of  the 
combat  that  he  popped  up  out  of  the  hay  and  shouted, 
"Good  for  you,  old  man!  Stand  up  for  your  rights! 
Don't  let  her  down  you!  Hurrah  for  men!"  And  the 
astounded  farmer  stood  staring  with  his  mouth  open, 
while  the  two  "wobbles"  leaped  up  and  fled  from  the 
barn,  so  convulsed  with  laughter  they  hardly  noticed 
the  floods  of  rain  pouring  down  upon  them 


LII 

But,  of  course,  it  wasn't  long  before  this  little  Com- 
pany became  serious  again.  Carpenter  told  Franklin 
that  he  ought  not  stay  here ;  he,  Carpenter,  was  too  con- 
spicuous a  figure,  the  authorities  were  certain  to  be 
watching  him.  Korwsky  backed  him  up.  There  were 
sure  to  be  spies  here!  They  would  never  leave  such  a 
man  unwatched.  They  would  set  to  work  to  get  some- 
thing on  him,  and  if  they  couldn't  get  it  they  would 
make  it.  When  Carpenter  asked  what  he  meant,  he 
explained,  "Dey'll  plant  dynamite  in  de  place  vere  you 
are,  or  dey'll  fake  up  some  letters  to  show  you  been 
plannin'  violence." 

"And  do  people  believe  such  things  ?"  asked  Carpenter. 

"Believe  dem?"  cried  Korwsky.  "If  dey  see  it  in  de 
papers,  dey  believe  it — sure  dey  do!" 

The  prophet  answered,  "Let  a  man  live  so  that  the 
world  will  believe  him  and  not  his  enemies."  Then  he 
added  a  startling  remark.  "There  is  one  among  us  who 
will  betray  me." 

Of  course,  they  all  looked  at  one  another  in  consterna- 
tion. They  were  deeply  distressed,  and  each  Scried  in 
turn—"Comrade,"  or  "Brother,"  or  "Fellow-worker,"  or 
whatever  term  they  used — "is  it  I?"  Presently  the 
sturdy  looking  fellow  named  Hamby,  who  called  him- 
self a  pacifist,  asked,  "Is  it  I  ?"  And  Carpenter  answered, 
quietly,  "You  have  said  it." 

Then,  of  course,  some  of  the  others  started  up;  they 
wanted  to  throw  him  out,  but  Carpenter  bade  them  sit 
down  again,  saying,  "Let  things  take  their  course;  for 

182 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTEE  183 

the  powers  of  this  world  will  perish  more  quickly  if  they 
are  permitted  to  kill  themselves." 

Apparently  he  saw  no  reason  why  this  episode  should 
be  permitted  to  interfere  with  the  festivities.  Mary 
Magna  came  in  laughing,  bearing  the  strawberry  short- 
cake, and  set  it  on  the  table  and  proceeded  to  portion  it 
out.  When  it  was  served,  Carpenter  said,  "I  shall  not 
be  with  you  much  longer,  my  friends;  but  you  will  re- 
member me  when  you  see  this  beautiful  red  fruit  on  top 
of  a  cake ;  and  also  you  will  think  of  me  and  my  message 
when  you  taste  rich  purple  grape-juice  that  has  perhaps 
stayed  a  day  or  two  too  long  in  the  bottle !" 

Some  of  the  company  laughed,  but  others  of  them  had 
tears  in  their  eyes;  and  I  noticed  that  in  the  midst  of 
the  merriment  the  fellow  Hamby  got  up  and  slipped  out 
of  the  room.  Not  long  after  that  the  company  began  to 
disperse  for  various  reasons.  Karlin  explained  that  his 
old  horse  had  been  working  all  day,  and  had  had  no 
supper.  Colver  was  uneasy,  not  for  himself,  but  for  his 
friend,  and  I  saw  him  start  every  time  the  door  was 
opened.  Also,  T-S  was  having  some  night-scenes  taken, 
and  he  and  Mary  were  to  see  the  work.  Finally  Car- 
penter dismissed  the  Company,  with  the  statement  that 
he  wished  to  retire  to  Comrade  Abell's  private  office  to 
pray;  and  Abell  and  his  friend  Lynch  and  the  young 
Mexican  said  they  would  watch  and  wait  for  him.  The 
rest  of  us  took  our  departure,  not  without  misgivings 
and  sorrow  in  our  hearts. 


LIII 

Now,  you  may  find  it  hard  to  believe  a  confession 
which  I  have  put  off  making — the  fact  that  at  this  time 
I  was  engaged  to  be  married.  There  was  a  certain  mem- 
ber of  what  is  called  the  "younger  set/'  whom  I  had 
given  reason  to  expect  that  I  would  think  about  her  at 
least  once  in  a  while.  But  here  for  precisely  three  days 
I  had  been  chasing  about  at  the  skirts  of  a  prophet  fresh 
from  God,  getting  my  name  into  the  newspapers  in  scan- 
dalous fashion,  and  not  daring  even  to  call  the  young 
lady  on  the  telephone  and  make  apologies.  That  eve- 
ning there  was  a  dinner-dance  at  her  home,  and  I  sup- 
posed I  was  supposed  to  be  there;  but  no  one  had 
bothered  to  invite  me,  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  would 
not  have  known  of  the  affair  if  I  had  not  seen  the  an- 
noun<cement  in  the  papers.  I  was  too  late  for  the  din- 
ner, but  I  got  myself  a  taxicab,  and  drove  to  my  room 
and  changed  my  clothes,  and  hurried  in  my  own  car  to 
the  dance. 

You  would  not  be  interested  in  the  fact  that  when 
I  arrived  I  was  treated  as  an  unwelcome  guest,  and  Miss 
Betty  even  went  so  far  as  to  remind  me  that  I  had  not 
been  invited.  But  after  I  had  pleaded,  she  consented 
to  dance  with  me;  and  so  for  an  hour  or  two  I  tried 
to  forget  there  were  any  people  in  the  world  who  had 
anything  to  do  but  be  happy.  Just  as  I  was  succeeding, 
the  butler  came,  calling  me  to  the  telephone,  and  I  an- 
swered, and  who  should  it  be  but  Old  Joe ! 

My  surprise  became  consternation  at  his  first  words: 
"Billy,  your  friend  Carpenter  is  in  peril !" 

184 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  185 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"They  are  going  to  get  him  tonight." 

"Good  God !    How  do  you  know  ?" 

"It's  a  long  story,  and  no  time  to  tell  it.  Somebody's 
tipped  me  off.  Where  can  I  meet  you?  Every  minute 
is  precious." 

"Where  are  you?"  I  asked,  and  learned  that  he  was  at 
his  home,  not  far  away.  I  said  I  would  fcome  there,  and 
I  hurried  to  Betty  and  had  another  scene  with  her,  and 
left  her  weeping,  vowing  that  she  would  never  see  me 
again.  I  ran  out  and  jumped  into  my  car — and  I  would 
hate  to  tell  what  I  did  to  the  speed  laws  of  Western 
City.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  a  few  minutes  later  I  was 
in  Old  Joe's  den,  and  he  was  telling  me  his  story. 

Part  of  it  I  got  then,  and  part  of  it  later,  but  I  might 
as  well  tell  it  all  at  once  and  be  done  with  it.  It  hap- 
pened that  at  the  restaurant  where  Old  Joe  and  I  had 
dined  before  we  went  to  the  mass-meeting,  he  had  met 
a  girl  whom  he  knew  too  well,  after  the  fashion  of 
young  men  about  town.  In  greeting  her  on  the  way  out, 
he  had  told  her  he  was  going  to  hear  the  new  prophet  and 
had  laughingly  suggested  that  the  meeting  was  free. 
The  girl,  out  of  idle  curiosity,  had  come,  and  had  been 
touched  by  Carpenter's  physical,  if  not  by  his  moral 
charms.  It  chanced  that  this  girl  was  living  with  a 
man  who  stood  high  in  the  secret  service  department 
of  "big  business"  in  our  city;  so  she  had  got  the  full 
story  of  what  was  being  planned  against  Carpenter.  That 
afternoon,  it  appeared,  there  had  been  a  meeting  between 
Algernon  de  Wiggs,  president  of  our  Chamber  of  Com- 
merce, and  Westerly,  secretary  of  our  "M.  and  M.,"  and 
Gerald  Carson,  organizer  of  our  "Boosters'  League." 
These  three  had  put  up  six  thousand  dollars,  and  turned 


186  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

it  over  to  their  secret  service  agents,  with  instructions 
that  Carpenter's  agitations  in  Western  City  were  to  be 
ended  inside  of  twenty-four  hours. 

A  plan  had  been  worked  out,  every  detail  of  which 
had  been  phoned  to  Old  Joe.  A  group  of  ex-service  men, 
members  of  the  Brigade,  had  been  hired  to  seize  the 
prophet  and  treat  him  to  a  tar  and  feathering.  It  had 
not  taken  much  to  move  them  to  action,  for  the  after- 
noon papers  were  full  of  accounts  of  Carpenter's  speech 
on  Main  Street,  his  denunciation  of  war,  and  of  soldiers 
as  "murderers"  and  "wolves." 

But  that  was  not  all,  said  Old  Joe ;  and  I  saw  that  his 
hand  was  trembling  as  he  spoke.  It  appeared  that  there 
was  an  "operative"  named  Hamby,  who  was  one  of 
Carpenter's  followers. 

"By  God!"  I  burst  out,  in  sudden  fury.  "I  was  sure 
that  fellow  was  a  crook!" 

"Yes,"  said  the  other.  "He's  been  telephoning  in 
regular  reports  as  to  Carpenter's  doings.  And  now  it's 
been  arranged  that  he  is  to  put  an  infernal  machine  in 
the  Socialist  headquarters  where  Carpenter  has  been 
staying !" 

I  was  almost  speechless.  "You  mean — to  blow  them 
up?" 

"No,  to  blow  up  their  reputations.  Hamby  is  to  lure 
Carpenter  out  to  the  street,  and  when  the  gang  grabs 
him,  Hamby  will  fire  a  shot,  and  there  will  be  three  or 
four  secret  agents  in  the  crowd,  who  will  incite  the 
others,  and  see  to  it  that  Carpenter  is  lynched  instead  of 
being  tarred  and  feathered!" 


LIV 

So  there  was  the  layout;  and  now,  what  was  to  be 
done?  The  first  thing  was  to  <call  Abell  on  the  phone, 
and  see  if  anything  had  happened.  I  picked  up  the  re- 
ceiver; but  alas,  the  report  was,  "No  answer."  I  urged 
"central"  to  try  several  times,  but  all  I  could  get  was, 
"I  am  ringing  them."  Carpenter,  no  doubt,  was  praying. 
What  were  the  others  doing?  I  kept  on  trying,  but 
finally  gave  up. 

Could  the  mob  have  taken  them  away?  But  Old  Joe 
answered,  no,  a  definite  hour  had  been  set.  The  ex- 
service  men  were  to  gather  on  the  stroke  of  midnight. 
We  had  nearly  an  hour  yet. 

My  first  thought  was  that  we  should  hurry  to  the 
Socialist  headquarters  and  get  Carpenter  out  of  the 
way.  But  my  friend  pointed  out  that  the  place  was  cer- 
tain to  be  watched,  and  we  might  find  ourselves  held 
up  by  the  armed  detectives;  they  would  hardly  take  a 
chance  of  letting  their  prey  escape  at  this  hour.  Also,  I 
realized  there  was  no  use  figuring  on  any  plan  that  in- 
volved spiriting  Carpenter  away  quietly,  by  the  roof,  or 
a  rear  entrance,  or  anything  of  that  sort.  He  would 
insist  on  staying  and  facing  his  enemies. 

I  put  my  wits  to  work.  We  needed  a  good-sized 
crowd ;  we  needed,  in  fact,  a  mob  of  our  own.  And  sud- 
denly the  word  brought  to  me  an  inspiration;  that 
mob  which  T-S  had  drilled  at  Eternal  City!  I  recalled 
that  a  year  or  so  ago  I  had  been  lured  to  sit  through 
a  very  dull  feature  picture  which  the  magnate  had  made, 
showing  the  salvation  of  our  country  by  the  Ku  Klux 

13  187 


188  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

Klan;  and  I  knew  enough  about  studio  methods  to  be 
sure  they  had  not  thrown  away  the  costumes,  but  would 
have  them  stored.  Here  was  the  way  to  save  our 
prophet!  Here  was  the  way  to  get  what  one  wanted  in 
Mobland ! 

I  picked  up  the  receiver  and  called  Eternal  City.  Yes, 
Mr.  T-S  was  there,  but  he  was  "on  the  lot"  and  could 
not  be  disturbed.  I  gave  my  name,  and  stated  that  it 
was  a  matter  of  life  and  death;  Mr.  T-S  must  come  to 
the  phone  instantly.  A  couple  of  minutes  later  I  heard 
his  voice,  and  told  him  the  situation,  and  also  my  scheme. 
He  must  come  himself,  to  make  sure  that  his  orders 
were  obeyed;  he  must  bring  several  bus-loads  of  men, 
clad  in  the  full  regalia  of  Mobland's  great  Secret  So- 
ciety ;  and  they  must  arrive  at  Abell's  place  precisely  on 
the  stroke  of  midnight.  The  men  must  be  paid  five 
dollars  apiece,  and  be  told  that  if  they  succeeded  in 
bringing  away  the  prophet  unharmed,  they  would  each 
get  ten  dollars  extra.  "I  will  put  up  that  money/1  I 
said  to  T-S;  but  to  my  surprise  he  cried:  "You  ain't 
gonna  put  up  nuttin'!  God  damn  dem  fellers,  I'll  beat 
'em  if  it  costs  me  a  million  1"  So  I  realized  that  the 
prophet  had  made  one  more  convert ! 

"Have  you  got  that  bus  with  the  siren  ?"  I  asked ;  and 
when  he  answered,  yes,  I  said,  "Let  that  be  the  signal. 
When  we  hear  it,  Joe  and  I  will  bring  Carpenter  down 
to  the  street,  and  if  the  Brigade  is  there,  it's  up  to  you 
to  persuade  them  you're  the  bigger  mob !" 

Then  Old  Joe  and  I  ran  down  to  my  car,  and  drove 
at  full  speed  to  the  Socialist  headquarters;  and  on  the 
way  we  worked  out  our  own  plan  of  campaign.  The  real 
danger-point  was  Hamby,  the  secret  agent,  and  we  must 
manage  to  put  him  out  of  the  way.  Despite  his  pose  of 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  189 

"pacifism/'  he  was  certain  to  be  armed,  said  Old  Joe; 
yet  we  must  take  a  chance,  and  do  the  job  unarmed.  If 
we  should  get  into  a  shooting-scrape,  they  would  cer- 
tainly put  it  onto  us ;  and  they  would  make  it  a  hanging 
matter,  too. 

I  named  over  the  members  of  Carpenter's  party  who 
had  stayed  with  him.  Andy  Lynch,  the  ex-soldier,  was 
probably  a  useful  man,  and  we  would  get  his  help.  We 
would  get  rid  of  Hamby,  and  then  we  would  wait  for  T-S 
and  his  siren.  By  the  time  these  plans  were  thoroughly 
talked  out,  we  had  reached  the  building  in  which  the 
headquarters  were  located.  There  were  lights  in  the 
main  room  upstairs,  and  the  door  which  led  up  to  them 
was  open.  The  street  was  apparently  deserted,  and  we 
did  not  stop  to  look  for  any  "operatives,"  but  left  our 
machine  and  stole  quietly  upstairs  and  into  the  room. 


LV 

Comrade  Abell  sat  at  the  table,  with  his  head  bowed 
in  his  arms,  sound  asleep.  Lynch,  the  ex-soldier,  and 
Tom  Moneta,  the  Mexican,  were  lying  on  the  floor  snor- 
ing. And  on  a  chair  near  the  doorway,  watching  the 
scene,  sat  Hamby,  wide  awake.  We  knew  he  was  awake, 
because  he  leaped  to  his  feet  the  instant  we  entered  the 
door.  "Oh,  it's  you!"  he  said,  recognizing  me;  I  noted 
the  alarm  in  his  voice. 

I  beckoned  to  him,  softly.  "Come  here  a  moment;" 
and  he  came  out  into  the  ante-room.  At  the  same  time 
Old  Joe  stepped  across  the  big  room,  and  stooped  down 
and  waked  up  Lynch.  We  had  agreed  that  Joe  was  to 
give  Lynch  a  whispered  explanation  of  the  situation, 
while  I  kept  Hamby  busy. 

"Where  is  Mr.  Carpenter?"  I  asked. 

"He's  in  the  private  office,  praying." 

"Well,"  said  I,  "there's  a  sick  woman  who  needs  help 
very  badly.  I  wonder  if  we'd  better  disturb  him." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Hamby.  "I've  been  here  an  hour, 
and  haven't  heard  a  sound.  Maybe  he's  asleep." 

I  was  uncertain  what  I  should  do,  and  I  elaborately  ex- 
plained my  uncertainty.  Of  course,  praying  was  an  im- 
portant and  useful  occupation,  and  I  knew  that  the 
prophet  laid  great  stress  upon  it,  and  all  of  us  who  loved 
him  so  dearly  must  respect  his  wishes. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  Hamby. 

Yet  at  the  same  time,  I  continued,  this  woman  was 
very  ill,  a  case  of  ptomaine  poisoning — 

"Do  you  think  he  can  cure  that?"  asked  Hamby  guile- 

190 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  191 

lessly;  and  at  that  moment  Old  Joe  and  Lynch  came 
from  the  big  room.  Hamby  started  to  turn,  but  he  was 
too  late.  Old  Joe's  arms  went  around  him,  and  Hamby's 
two  elbows  were  clamped  to  his  sides,  in  a  grip  which 
more  than  one  professional  wrestler  in  our  part  of  the 
world  has  found  it  impossible  to  break.  At  the  same  time 
I  stooped  on  my  knees  and  grasped  the  man's  two  wrists ; 
because  we  were  taking  no  chances  of  his  gun.  Lynch, 
the  ex-soldier,  had  a  cloth,  taken  from  the  big  table,  and 
he  flung  this  over  the  head  of  the  "pacifist"  and  stifled 
his  cries. 

I  took  a  revolver  from  his  hip-pocket,  but  Joe  was  not 
satisfied.  "Search  him  carefully,"  said  he,  and  so  I  dis- 
covered another  weapon  in  a  side-pocket.  Then  I  made 
hasty  search  in  a  big  closet  of  the  room,  and  found  a 
lot  of  bundles  of  books  and  magazines  tied  with  stout 
cords.  I  took  the  fcords,  and  we  bound  the  "pacifist's" 
wrists  and  ankles,  and  put  a  gag  in  his  mouth,  and  then 
we  felt  sure  he  was  really  a  pacifist.  We  carried  him 
to  the  closet  and  laid  him  on  the  floor,  where  a  humorous 
idea  came  to  us.  These  bundles  of  magazines  and  books 
were  no  doubt  the  ones  which  the  mob  had  confiscated 
from  Comrade  Abell.  Since  they  were  no  longer  sale- 
able, they  might  as  well  be  put  to  some  use,  so  I  gath- 
ered armfuls  of  them  and  distributed  them  over  the  form 
of  Hamby,  until  there  was  no  longer  a  trace  of  him 
visible. 

And  while  I  was  doing  this,  I  noticed  in  one  corner 
of  the  closet,  under  the  bundles,  a  wooden  box  about  a 
foot  square.  Upon  trying  to  lift  it,  I  discovered  that  it 
weighed  several  times  as  much  as  it  should  have  weighed 
if  it  had  contained  printed  matter.  "Here's  our  infernal 
machine,"  I  whispered,  and  I  picked  it  up  gingerly,  and 


192  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

tiptoed  out  of  the  room,  and  back  to  the  kitchen,  and 
down  a  rear  stairway  of  the  building.  I  unlocked  the 
door  and  opened  it — and  there,  crouching  in  the  shadows 
alongside  the  door,  just  as  I  expected,  I  saw  a  man. 

"Hello!"  I  whispered. 

"Hello!"  said  he,  badly  startled. 

"Here's  something  belonging  to  Hamby.  He  wants 
me  to  give  it  to  you.  Be  careful,  it's  heavy."  I  de- 
posited the  box  in  his  hands,  and  shut  the  door,  and 
turned  the  lock  again,  and  groped  my  way  upstairs, 
chuckling  to  myself  as  I  imagined  the  man's  plight.  He 
would  not  know  what  to  make  of  this  incident,  and  I 
had  an  idea  he  would  not  be  able  to  find  out,  because 
he  could  not  leave  his  post.  Nor  would  he  have  much 
time  to  figure  over  the  matter;  for  when  I  got  back  to 
the  light,  I  looked  at  my  watch,  and  it  lacked  just  three 
minutes  to  twelve. 

I  found  that  Lynch  and  Old  Joe  had  shut  the  pacifist 
in  the  closet,  and  were  in  the  ante-room  waiting  for  me. 
I  whispered  that  everything  was  all  right.  A  moment 
later  we  heard  a  sound  in  the  big  room,  and  peered  in, 
and  saw  a  door  at  the  far  end  open — and  there  was  Car- 
penter, standing  with  his  white  robes  gleaming  in  the 
light.  After  a  moment  I  realized  that  they  gleamed  even 
more  than  was  natural;  I  perceived  once  more  that 
strange  "aura"  which  had  been  noticed  at  the  mass- 
meeting;  and  by  means  of  it  I  noticed  an  even  more 
startling  thing.  There  were  drops  of  sweat  on  Car- 
penter's forehead,  as  always  when  he  had  labored  in- 
tensely in  his  soul.  This  time  I  saw  that  the  drops 
were  large,  and  they  were  drops  of  blood! 

A  trembling  seized  me.  I  was  awe-stricken  before 
this  man — afraid  to  go  on  with  what  I  was  doing,  and 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  193 

equally  afraid  to  back  out.  I  remained  staring  help- 
lessly, and  saw  him  approach  the  sleeping  figures,  and 
stand  looking  at  them.  "Could  you  not  watch  with  tne 
one  hour?"  he  said,  in  his  gentle,  sad  voice;  and  he 
put  his  hand  on  Comrade  Abell's  shoulder,  with  the 
words :  "The  time  has  come." 

Abell  started  to  his  feet,  and  began  to  apologize.  The 
other  said  nothing,  but  stooped  and  waked  Moneta.  And 
at  that  moment  I  heard  the  shrill  blast  of  a  whistle  out- 
side on  the  street!  "There's  the  Brigade !"  whispered 
Old  Joe. 


LVI 

I  ran  down  the  stairs,  and  peered  through  the  doorway, 
and  sure  enough,  there  were  four  or  five  automobiles 
stopped  before  the  headquarters,  having  approached  from 
opposite  direction.  I  stood  just  long  enough  to  see  a 
crowd  of  men  in  khaki  uniforms  jumping  out;  then  I 
ran  back,  and  leaving  Old  Joe  and  Lynch  to  keep  guard 
at  the  top  of  the  stairs,  I  walked  in  and  greeted  Car- 
penter. 

He  expressed  no  surprise  at  seeing  me.  Evidently 
his  thoughts  were  on  other  things.  For  my  part,  I  was 
trembling  with  excitement,  so  that  my  knees  would 
barely  hold  me.  How  long  would  it  be  before  T-S  and 
his  crowd  appeared?  I  could  figure  the  time  it  should 
take  them  to  drive  from  Eternal  City;  but  suppose 
something  held  them  up?  How  long  would  the  ex- 
service  men  stay  out  on  the  street,  waiting  for  Hamby 
to  answer  their  signal?  Surely  not  many  minutes! 
They  would  storm  the  place,  and  hunt  out  their  victim 
for  themselves.  And  suppose  they  should  carry  him  off 
before  the  others  arrived? 

I  had  Hamby's  two  revolvers  in  my  pocket.  Should 
we  use  them,  or  not  ?  The  thought  hit  me  all  of  a  sudden ; 
and  apparently  it  hit  Old  Joe  at  the  same  moment.  "Give 
me  those  guns,  Billy,"  he  whispered,  and  I  put  them 
obediently  into  his  hands,  and  he  went  quickly  into  the 
rear  rooms.  At  the  end  of  a  minute,  he  returned,  saying, 
"I  unloaded  them  and  threw  them  out  of  the  back  win- 
dow." And  even  as  he  spoke,  the  silence  of  the  night 
outside  was  shattered  by  the  scream  of  that  siren,  which 

194 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

served  to  warn  people  out  of  the  way  when  T-S  was 
moving  his  companies  about  "on  location." 

I  went  up  to  Carpenter.  I  didn't  enjoy  telling  him  a 
lie;  in  fact,  I  had  an  idea  that  one  couldn't  He  to  him 
successfully.  But  I  tried  it.  "Mr.  Carpenter,  Hamby 
left  a  message ;  he  had  to  go  downstairs,  and  said  he 
wanted  to  see  you.  Would  you  come  down  and  meet 
him?" 

"Ah,  yes !"  said  Carpenter.  And  he  walked  to  the  door 
and  down  the  stairs  without  another  word.  The  rest 
of  us  followed  him;  Abell  and  Moneta  first,  they  being 
innocent  and  unsuspicious;  and  then  Lynch,  and  then 
Joe  and  I. 

The  prophet  stepped  out  to  the  street,  and  was  in- 
stantly surrounded  by  a  group  of  a  dozen  ex-service  men, 
two  of  whom  grasped  him  by  the  arms.  He  did  not  lift 
a  hand,  nor  even  make  a  sound.  Comrade  Abell,  of 
course,  started  to  cry  out  in  protest;  Moneta,  the  Mexi- 
can, reverted  to  his  ancestors.  His  hand  flashed  to  an 
inside  pocket,  and  a  knife  leaped  out.  A  soldier  had  hold 
of  him,  and  Moneta  shouted,  "Stand  back,  or  I  cut  off 
your  ears."  At  which  Carpenter  turned,  and  in  a  stern, 
commanding  voice  proclaimed:  "Let  no  man  use  force 
in  my  behalf !  They  who  use  force  shall  perish  by  force/' 
Moneta  stood  still;  and  of  course  Lynch  and  Old  Joe 
and  I  stood  still;  and  the  dozen  men  about  Carpenter 
started  to  lead  him  away  to  their  automobiles. 

But  they  did  not  get  very  far.  Upon  the  silence  of  the 
street  a  voice  rang  out.  Ordinarily,  one  would  have 
known  it  was  the  voice  of  a  woman;  but  in  this  place, 
under  these  exciting  circumstances,  it  seemed  the  voice 
of  a  supernatural  being.  It  almost  sang  the  words;  it 
was  like  a  silver  bugle  (palling  across  a  battle-field—' 


196  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

glorious,  thrilling,  hypnotic.  "Make  way-y-y-y  for  the 
Grand  Imperial  Kle-e-e-agle  of  the  Ku-u  Klux  Klan!" 
Every  one  was  startled;  but  I  think  I  was  startled  more 
that  the  rest,  for  I  knew  the  voice!  Mary  Magna  had 
taken  another  speaking  part ! 

I  was  on  the  steps  cf  the  building,  so  I  could  see  over 
the  heads  of  the  crowd.  There  were  four  of  the  big 
busses  from  Eternal  City,  two  having  approached  from 
each  direction.  Some  fifty  figures  had  descended  from 
them,  and  others  were  still  descending,  each  one  clad  in 
a  voluminous  white  robe,  with  a  white  hood  over  the 
head,  and  two  black  holes  for  eyes,  and  another  for  the 
nose.  These  figures  had  spread  out  in  a  half  moon,  en- 
tirely surrounding  the  little  mob  of  ex-service  men,  and 
penning  them  against  the  wall  of  the  building.  In  the 
center  of  the  half  moon,  standing  a  few  feet  in  advance, 
was  the  figure  of  the  "Grand  Imperial  Kleagle,"  with  a 
red  star  upon  the  forehead  of  the  white  hood,  and 
shrouded  white  arms  stretched  out,  and  in  one  hand  a 
magic  wand  with  a  red  light  on  the  end.  This  wand 
was  waving  over  the  Brigade  members,  and  had  ap- 
parently its  full  supernatural  effect,  for  one  and  all  they 
stood  rooted  to  the  spot,  staring  with  wide-open  eyes. 


LVII 

The  grand-opera  voice  raised  again  its  silver  chant: 
"Give  way,  all  mobs!  Yield!  Retire!  Abdicate! — Bow 
down-n-n-n-n !  Make  way  for  the  Mob  of  Mobs,  the 
irresistible,  imperial,  superior  super-mob!  Hearken  to 
the  Lord  High  Chief  Commanding  Dragon  of  the 
Esoteric  Cohorts,  the  Exalted  Immortal  Grand  Imperial 
Kleagle  of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan !" 

Then  the  Grand  Imperial  Kleagle  turned  and  ad- 
dressed the  white-robed  throng  in  a  voice  of  sharp  com- 
mand: "Klansmen!  Remember  your  oath!  The  hour 
of  Judgment  is  here!  The  guilty  wretch  cowers!  The 
grand  insuperable  sentence  has  been  spoken!  Coelum 
animum  imperiabilis  senescat!  Similia  similibus  per 
quantum  imperator.  Inexorabilis  ingenium  parasimilibus 
esperantur !  Saeva  imparatus  ignotum  indignatio ! 
Salvo!  Suppositio!  Indurato!  Klansmen,  kneel!" 

As  one  man,  the  host  fell  upon  its  knees. 

"Klansmen,  swear!  Si  fractus  illibatur  orbis,  impa- 
vidum  ferient  ruinae!  You  have  heard  the  sentence. 
What  is  the  penalty?  Is  it  death?" 

And  a  voice  in  the  crowd  cried  "Death !"  And  the 
others  took  it  up;  there  was  a  roar:  "Death!  Death!" 

Said  the  Grand  Imperial  Kleagle:  "Arma  virumque 
cano,  tou  poluphlesboiou  thalasses !"  Then,  facing  the 
staring  ex-servicemen :  "Tetlathi  mater  erne  kai  anaskeo 
ko-omeneper !" 

Finally  the  Grand  Imperial  Kleagle  pointed  her 
shrouded  white  arm  at  Carpenter,  who  stood,  as  pale 
as  death,  but  unflinchingly.  "Death  to  all  traitors!" 

197 


198  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

she  cried.  "Death  to  all  agitators !  Death  to  all  enemies 
of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan!  Condemnatus!  Incomparabilis ! 
Ingenientis  exequatur!  Let  the  Loyal  High  Inexorable 
Guardians  and  the  Grand  Holy  Seneschals  of  the  Klan 
advance !" 

Six  shrouded  figures  stepped  out  from  the  crowd.  Said 
the  Grand  Imperial  Kleagle :  "Possess  yourselves  of  the 
body  of  this  guilty  wretch !"  And  to  the  ex-servicemen : 
"Yield  up  this  varlet  to  the  High  Secret  Court-martial  of 
the  Klan,  which  alone  has  power  to  punish  such  as  he." 

What  the  bewildered  members  of  the  Brigade  made 
of  all  this  hocus-pocus  I  had  no  idea.  Afterwards,  when 
the  adventure  was  over,  I  asked  Mary,  "Where  in  the 
world  did  you  get  that  stuff?"  And  she  told  me  how 
she  had  once  acted  in  a  children's  comedy,  in  which 
there  was  an  old  magician  who  spent  his  time  putting 
spells  on  people.  She  had  had  to  witness  his  incanta- 
tions eight  or  ten  times  a  week  for  nearly  a  year,  so 
of  course  the  phrases  had  got  fixed  in  her  memory,  and 
they  had  served  just  as  well  to  impress  these  grown-up 
children. 

Or  perhaps  the  ex-servicemen  thought  this  might  be 
a  further  plan  of  those  who  had  employed  them.  What- 
ever they  thought,  it  was  obvious  that  they  were  hope- 
lessly outnumbered.  There  (could  be  nothing  for  a  mob 
to  do  but  yield  to  a  Super-mob ;  and  they  yielded.  Those 
who  were  in  front  of  Carpenter  stepped  back,  and  the 
Loyal  High  Inexorable  Guardians  and  the  Grand  Holy 
Seneschals  took  Carpenter  by  the  arms  and  led  him  away, 
Apparently  they  were  going  to  overlook  the  rest  of  us'a 
but  Old  Joe  and  Lynch  and  myself  took  Abell  and 
Moneta  by  the  shoulders  and  shoved  them  along,  past 
the  ex-service  men  and  into  the  midst  of  the  "Klansmen." 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  199 

There  was  no  need  to  consider  dignity  after  that.  We 
hustled  Carpenter  to  the  nearest  of  the  busses,  and 
put  him  in ;  the  Grand  Imperial  Kleagle  followed,  and  the 
rest  of  us  clambered  in  after  her.  Sitting  up  beside  the 
driver,  watching  the  scene,  was  T-S,  beaming  with  de- 
light ;  he  got  me  by  the  hand  and  wrung  it.  I  could  not 
speak,  my  teeth  were  literally  chattering  with '  excite- 
ment. Carpenter,  sitting  in  the  seat  behind  us,  must 
have  realized  by  now  the  meaning  of  this  scandalous 
adventure ;  but  he  said  not  a  word,  and  the  white-gowned 
Klansmen  piled  in  behind  him,  and  the  siren  shrieked 
out  into  the  night,  and  the  bus  backed  to  the  corner, 
and  turned  and  sped  off ;  and  all  the  way  to  Eternal  City, 
T-S  and  I  and  Old  Joe  slapped  one  another  on  the  back 
and  roared  with  laughter,  and  the  rest  of  the  Klansmen 
roared  with  laughter — all  save  the  Grand  Imperial 
Kleagle,  who  sat  by  Carpenter's  side,  and  was  discov- 
ered to  be  weeping. 


LVIII 

T-S  and  I  had  exchanged  a  few  whispered  words,  ami 
decided  that  we  would  take  Carpenter  to  his  place,  which 
was  a  few  miles  in  the  country  from  Eternal  City.  He 
would  be  as  safe  there  as  anywhere  I  could  think  of. 
When  we  had  got  to  the  studios,  we  discharged  our 
Klansmen,  and  arranged  to  send  Old  Joe  to  his  home, 
and  the  three  disciples  to  a  hotel  for  the  night;  then  I 
invited  Carpenter  to  step  into  T-S's  car.  He  had  not 
spoken  a  word,  and  all  he  said  now  was,  "I  wish  to  be 
alone." 

I  answered:  "I  am  taking  you  to  a  place  where  you 
may  be  alone  as  long  as  you  choose."  So  he  entered 
the  car,  and  a  few  minutes  later  T-S  and  I  were  escorting 
him  into  the  latter's  showy  mansion. 

We  were  getting  to  be  rather  scared  now,  for  Car- 
penter's silence  was  forbidding.  But  again  he  said:  "I 
wish  to  be  alone."  We  took  him  upstairs  to  a  bed-room, 
and  shut  him  in  and  left  him — but  taking  the  precaution 
to  lock  the  door. 

Downstairs,  we  stood  and  looked  at  each  other,  feel- 
ing like  two  school-boys  who  had  been  playing  truant, 
and  would  soon  have  to  face  the  teacher.  "You  stay 
here,  Billy!"  insisted  the  magnate.  "You  gotta  see  him 
in  de  mornin'!  I  von't!" 

"I'll  stay,"  I  said,  and  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was 
after  one  o'clock.  "Give  me  an  alarm-clock,"  I  said, 
"because  Carpenter  wakes  with  the  birds,  and  we  don't 
want  him  escaping  by  the  window." 

So  it  came  about  that  at  daybreak  I  tapped  on  Car- 
200 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  201 

penter's  door,  softly,  so  as  not  to  waken  him  if  he  were 
asleep.  But  he  answered,  "Come  in ;"  and  I  entered,  and 
found  him  sitting  by  the  window,  watching  the  dawn. 

I  stood  timidly  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  began: 
"I  realize,  of  course,  Mr.  Carpenter,  that  I  have  taken  a 
very  great  liberty  with  you — " 

"You  have  said  it,"  he  replied;  and  his  eyes  were 
awful. 

"But,"  I  persisted,  "if  you  knew  what  danger  you  were, 
in—" 

Said  he:  "Do  you  think  that  I  <came  to  Mobland  to 
look  for  a  comfortable  life?" 

"But,"  I  pleaded,  "if  you  only  knew  that  particular 
gang!  Do  you  realize  that  they  had  planted  an  infernal 
machine,  a  dynamite  bomb,  in  that  room?  And  all  the 
world  was  to  read  in  the  newspapers  this  morning  that 
you  had  been  conspiring  to  blow  up  somebody!" 

Said  Carpenter:  "Would  it  have  been  the  first  time 
that  I  have  been  lied  about?" 

"Of  course,"  I  argued,  "I  know  what  I  have  done—" 

"You  can  have  no  idea  what  you  have  done.  You  are 
too  ignorant." 

I  bowed  my  head,  prepared  to  take  my  punishment. 
But  at  once  Carpenter's  voice  softened.  "You  are  a 
part  of  Mobland,"  he  said;  "you  cannot  help  yourself. 
In  Mobland  it  is  not  possible  for  even  a  martyrdom  to 
proceed  in  an  orderly  way." 

I  gazed  at  him  a  moment,  bewildered.  "What's  the 
good  of  a  martyrdom?"  I  cried. 

"The  good  fcv  that  men  can  be  moved  in  no  other  way ; 
they  are  in  'chat  childish  stage  of  being,  where  they  re- 
quire blood  sacrifice." 

"But  what  kind  of  martyrdom!"  I  argued.     "So  un- 


202  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

dignified  and  unimpressive!  To  have  hot  tar  smeared 
over  your  body,  and  be  hanged  by  the  netk  like  a  com- 
mon criminal!" 

I  realized  that  this  last  phrase  was  unfortunate.  Said 
Carpenter:  "I  am  used  to  being  treated  as  a  common 
criminal." 

"Well,"  said  I,  in  a  voice  of  despair,  "of  course,  if 
you're  absolutely  bent  on  being  hanged — if  you  can't 
think  of  anything  you  would  prefer — " 

I  stopped,  for  I  saw  that  he  had  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands.  In  the  silence  I  heard  him  whisper:  "I 
prayed  last  night  that  this  cup  might  pass  from  me; 
and  apparently  my  prayer  has  been  answered." 

"Well,"  I  said,  deciding  to  cheer  up,  "you  see,  I  have 
only  been  playing  the  part  of  Providence.  Let  me  play 
it  just  a  few  days  longer,  until  this  mob  of  crazy  soldier- 
boys  has  got  out  of  town  again.  I  am  truly  ashamed 
for  them,  but  I  am  one  of  them  myself,  so  I  understand 
them.  They  really  fought  and  won  a  war,  you  see,  and 
they  are  full  of  the  madness  of  it,  the  blind,  intense 
passions — " 

Carpenter  was  on  his  feet.  "I  know!"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  know!  You  need  not  tell  me  about  that!  I  do  not 
blame  your  soldier-boys.  I  blame  the  men  who  incite 
them — the  old  men,  the  soft-handed  men,  who  sit  back 
in  office-chairs  and  plan  madness  for  the  world!  What 
shall  be  the  punishment  of  these  men?" 

"They're  a  hard  crowd — "  I  admitted. 

"I  have  seen  them !  They  are  stone-faced  men !  They 
are  wolves  with  machinery!  They  are  savages  with 
polished  fingernails!  And  they  have  made  of  the  land 
a  place  of  fools !  They  have  made  it  Mobland !" 

I  did  not  try  to  answer  him,  but  waited  until  the 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  203 

storm  of  his  emotion  passed.  "You  are  right,  Mr.  Car- 
penter. But  that  is  the  fact  about  our  world,  and  you 
cannot  change  it — " 

Carpenter  flung  out  his  arm  at  me.  "Let  no  man 
utter  in  my  presence  the  supreme  blasphemy  against 
life I" 

So,  of  course,  I  was  silent;  and  Carpenter  went  and 
sat  at  the  window  again,  and  watched  the  dawn. 

At  last  I  ventured:  "All  that  your  friends  ask,  Mr. 
Carpenter,  is  that  you  will  wait  until  this  convention  of 
the  ex-soldiers  has  got  out  of  town.  After  that,  it  may 
be  possible  to  get  people  to  listen  to  you.  But  while 
the  Brigade  is  here,  it  is  impossible.  They  are  rough,  and 
they  are  wild;  they  are  taking  possession  of  the  city, 
and  will  do  what  they  please.  If  they  see  you  on  the 
streets,  they  will  inflict  indignities  upon  you,  they  will 
mishandle  you — " 

Said  Carpenter:  "Do  not  fear  those  who  kill  the 
body,  but  fear  those  who  kill  the  soul." 

So  again  I  fell  silent ;  and  presently  he  remarked :  "My 
brother,  I  wish  to  be  alone." 

Said  I :    "Won't  you  please  promise,  Mr.  Carpenter — " 

He  answered:  "I  make  promises  only  to  my  Father. 
Let  me  be." 


LIX 

I  went  downstairs,  and  there  was  T-S,  wandering 
around  like  a  big  fat  monk  in  a  purple  dressing  gown. 
And  there  was  Maw,  also — only  her  dressing  gown  was 
rose-pink,  with  white  chrysanthemums  on  it.  It  took  a 
lot  to  get  those  two  awake  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, y°u  may  be  sure;  but  there  they  were,  very  much 
worried.  "Vot  does  he  say?"  cried  the  magnate. 

"He  won't  say  what  he  is  going  to  do." 

"He  von't  promise  to  stay?" 

"He  won't  promise  anything." 

"Veil,  did  you  lock  de  door?" 

I  answered  that  I  had,  and  then  Maw  put  in,  in  a 
hurry:  "Billy,  you  gotta  stay  here  and  take  care  of 
him!  If  he  vas  to  £ome  downstairs  and  tell  me  to  do 
someting,  I  vould  got  to  do  it!" 

I  promised;  and  a  little  later  they  got  ready  a  cup  of 
coffee  and  a  glass  of  milk  and  some  rolls  and  butter  and 
fruit,  and  I  had  the  job  of  taking  up  the  tray  and  setting 
it  in  the  prophet's  room.  When  I  came  in,  I  tried  to 
say  cheerfully,  "Here's  your  breakfast,"  and  not  to  show 
any  trace  of  my  uneasiness. 

Carpenter  looked  at  me,  and  said :  "You  had  the  door 
locked?" 

I  summoned  my  nerve,  and  answered,  "Yes." 

Said  he :  "What  is  the  difference  to  me  between  being 
your  prisoner  and  being  the  prisoner  of  your  rulers?" 

Said  I:  "Mr.  Carpenter,  the  difference  is  that  we 
don't  intend  to  hang  you." 

"And  how  long  do  you  propose  to  keep  me  here?" 

204 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  205 

"For  about  four  days,"  I  said;  "until  the  convention 
disbands.  If  you  will  only  give  me  your  word  to  wait 
that  time,  you  may  have  the  freedom  of  this  beautiful 
place,  and  when  the  period  is  over,  I  pledge  you  every 
help  I  can  give  to  make  known  your  message  to  the 
people." 

I  waited  for  an  answer,  but  none  came,  so  I  set  down 
the  tray  and  went  out,  locking  the  door  again.  And 
downstairs  was  one  of  T-S's  secretaries,  with  copies  of 
the  morning  newspapers,  and  I  picked  up  a  "Times,"  and 
there  was  a  headline,  all  the  way  across  the  page: 

KU  KLUX  KLAN   KIDNAPS  KARPENTER 

RANTING     RED     PROPHET     DISAPPEARS     IN 

TOOTING  AUTOS 

I  understood,  of  jcourse,  that  the  secret  agency  which 
had  engineered  the  mobbing  of  the  prophet  would  have 
had  their  stories  all  ready  for  our  morning  newspapers 
— stories  which  played  up  to  the  full  the  finding  of  an 
infernal  machine,  and  an  unprovoked  attack  upon  ex- 
service  men  by  the  armed  followers  of  the  "Red  Prophet." 
But  now  all  this  was  gone,  and  instead  was  a  story 
glorifying  the  Klansmen  as  the  saviors  of  the  city's  good 
name.  It  was  evident  that  up  to  the  hour  of  going  to 
press,  neither  of  the  two  newspapers  had  any  idea  but 
that  the  white  robed  figures  were  genuine  followers  of 
the  "Grand  Imperial  Kleagle."  The  "Times"  carried 
at  the  top  of  its  editorial  page  a  brief  comment  in  large 
type,  congratulating  the  people  of  Western  City  upon 
the  promptness  with  which  they  had  demonstrated  their 
devotion  to  the  cause  of  law  and  order. 

But  of  course  the  truth  about  our  made-to-order  mob 
could  not  be  kept  very  long.  When  you  have  hired  a 


206  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

hundred  moving-picture  actors  to  share  in  the  greatest 
mystery  of  the  age,  it  will  not  be  many  hours  before  your 
secret  has  got  to  the  newspaper  offices.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  wasn't  two  hours  before  the  "Evening  Blare"  was 
•calling  the  home  of  the  movie  magnate  to  inquire  where 
he  had  taken  the  kidnapped  prophet;  there  was  no  use 
trying  to  deny  anything,  said  the  editor,  diplomatically, 
because  too  many  people  had  seen  the  prophet  transferred 
to  Mr.  T-S's  automobile.  Of  course  T-S's  secretary,  who 
answered  the  phone,  lied  valiantly;  but  here  again,  we 
knew  the  truth  would  leak.  There  were  servants  and 
chauffeurs  and  gardeners,  and  all  of  them  knew  that  the 
white  robed  mystery  was  somewhere  on  the  place.  They 
would  be  offered  endless  bribes — and  some  of  them  would 
accept ! 

In  the  course  of  the  next  hour  or  two  there  were  a 
dozen  newspaper  reporters  besieging  the  mansion,  and 
camera  men  taking  pictures  of  it,  and  even  spying  with 
opera  glasses  from  a  distance.  Before  my  mind's  eye 
flashed  new  headlines: 

MOVIE  MAGNATE  HIDES  MOB  PROPHET  FROM 

LAW 

This  was  an  aspect  of  the  matter  which  we  had  at  first 
overlooked.  Carpenter  was  due  at  Judge  Ponty's  police- 
court  at  nine  o'clock  that  morning.  Was  he  going?  de- 
manded the  reporters,  and  if  not,  why  not?  Mary 
Magna  no  doubt  would  be  willing  to  sacrifice  the  two 
hundred  dollars  bail  that  she  had  put  up ;  but  the  judge 
had  a  right  to  issue  a  bench  warrant  and  send  a  deputy 
for  the  prisoner.  Would  he  do  it? 

Behind  the  scenes  of  Western  City's  government  there 
began  forthwith  a  tremendous  diplomatic  duel.  Who  it 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

was  that  wanted  Carpenter  dragged  out  of  his  hiding- 
place,  we  could  not  be  sure,  but  we  knew  who  it 
was  that  wanted  him  to  stay  hidden !  I  called  up*  my 
uncle  Timothy,  and  explained  the  situation.  It  wasn't 
worth  while  for  him  to  waste  his  breath  scolding,  I  was 
going  to  stand  by  my  prophet.  If  he  wanted  to  put  an 
end  to  the  scandal,  let  him  do  what  he  could  to  see  that 
the  prophet  was  let  alone. 

"But,  Billy,  what  can  I  do?"  he  cried.  "It's  a  matter  of 
the  law." 

I  answered:  "Fudge!  You  know  perfectly  well 
there's  no  magistrate  or  judge  in  this  city  that  won't  do 
what  he's  told,  if  the  right  people  tell  him.  What  I  want 
you  to  do  is  to  get  busy  with  de  Wiggs  and  Westerly 
and  Carson,  and  the  rest  of  the  big  gang,  and  persuade 
them  that  there's  nothing  to  be  gained  by  dragging  Car- 
penter out  of  his  hiding-place." 

What  did  they  want  anyway  ?  I  argued.  They  wanted 
the  agitation  stopped.  Well,  we  had  stopped  it,  and 
without  any  bloodshed.  If  they  dragged  the  prophet 
out  from  concealment,  and  into  a  police  court,  they 
would  only  have  more  excitement,  more  tumult,  ending 
nobody  could  tell  how. 

I  called  up  several  other  people  who  might  have  in- 
fluence; and  meanwhile  T-S  was  over  at  his  office  in 
Eternal  City,  pleading  over  the  telephone  with  the  editors 
of  afternoon  papers.  They  had  got  the  Red  Prophet  out 
of  the  way  during  the  convention,  and  why  couldn't  they 
let  well  enough  alone  ?  Wasn't  there  news  enough,  with 
five  or  ten  thousand  war-heroes  coming  to  town,  with- 
out bothering  about  one  poor  religious  freak? 

When  you  shoot  a  load  of  shot  at  a  duck,  and  the  bird 
conies  tumbling  down,  you  do  not  bother  to  ask  which 

15 


208  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

particular  shot  it  was  that  hit  the  target.  And  so  it 
was  with  these  frantic  efforts  of  ours.  One  shot  must 
have  hit,  for  at  eleven  o'clock  that  morning,  when  the 
case  of  John  Doe  Carpenter  versus  the  Commonwealth 
of  Western  City  was  reached  in  Judge  Ponty's  court, 
and  the  bailiff  called  the  name  of  the  defendant  and  there 
was  no  answer,  the  magistrate  in  a  single  sentence  de- 
clared the  bail  forfeited,  and  passed  on  to  the  next  case 
without  a  word.  And  all  three  of  our  afternoon  news- 
papers reported  this  incident  in  an  obscure  corner  on  an 
inside  page.  The  Red  Prophet  was  dead  and  buried! 


LX 

I  took  up  Carpenter's  lunch  at  one  o'clock,  and  dis- 
covered, to  my  dismay,  that  he  had  not  tasted  his  break- 
fast. I  ventured  to  speak  to  him ;  but  he  sat  on  a  chair, 
gazing  ahead  of  him  and  paying  no  attention  to  me,  so 
I  left  him  alone.  At  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  I  took 
up  his  dinner,  and  discovered  that  he  had  not  touched 
either  breakfast  or  lunch ;  but  still  he  had  nothing  to  say, 
so  I  took  back  the  dinner,  and  went  downstairs,  and  said 
to  T-S:  "We've  got  ourselves  in  for  a  hunger  strike!" 

Needless  to  say,  under  the  circumstances  we  did  not 
very  heartily  enjoy  our  own  dinner.  And  T-S,  neglecting 
his  important  business,  stayed  around;  getting  up  out 
of  one  chair  and  walking  nowhere,  and  then  sitting  down 
in  another  chair.  I  did  the  same,  and  after  we  had  ex- 
changed chairs  a  dozen  times — it  being  then  about  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening — I  said :  "By  the  way,  hadn't  you 
better  call  up  the  morning  papers  and  persuade  them  to 
be  decent."  So  T-S  seated  himself  at  the  telephone,  and 
asked  for  the  managing  editor  of  the  Western  City 
"Times,"  and  I  sat  and  listened  to  the  conversation. 

It  began  with  a  reminder  of  the  amount  of  advertis- 
ing space  which  Eternal  City  consumed  in  the  "Times" 
in  the  course  of  a  year,  and  also  the  amount  of  its  pay- 
roll in  the  community.  It  wasn't  often  that  T-S  asked 
favors,  but  he  wanted  to  ask  one  now;  he  wanted  the 
"Times"  to  let  up  on  this  prophet  business,  and  especially 
about  the  prophet's  connection  with  the  moving  picture 
industry.  Everything  was  quiet  now,  the  prophet  wasn't 
bothering  anybody — 

209 


210  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

Suddenly,  at  the  height  of  his  eloquence,  T-S  stopped ; 
and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  he  jumped  a  foot  out  of  his 
chair.  "VOT!"  And  then,  "Vy  man,  you're  crazy!" 
He  turned  upon  me,  his  eyes  wide  with  dismay.  "Billy ! 
Dey  got  a  report — Carpenter  is  shoost  now  speakin'  to 
a  mob  on  de  steps  of  de  City  Hall!" 

The  magnate  did  not  wait  to  see  me  jump  out  of  my 
chair  or  to  hear  my  exclamations,  but  turned  again  to 
the  telephone.  "My  Gawd,  man !  Vot  do  I  know  about 
it?  De  feller  vas  up  in  his  room  two  hours  ago  ven  ve 
took  him  his  dinner!  He  vouldn't  eat  it,  he  vouldn't 
speak — " 

That  was  the  last  I  heard,  having  bolted  out  of  the 
room,  and  upstairs.  I  found  Carpenter's  door  locked;  I 
opened  it,  and  rushed  in.  The  place  was  empty!  The 
bird  had  flown ! 

How  had  he  got  out?  Had  he  climbed  through  the 
window  and  slid  down  a  rain-spout  in  his  prophetic 
robes?  Had  he  won  the  heart  of  some  servant?  Had 
some  newspaper  reporter  or  agent  of  our  enemies  used 
bribery?  I  rushed  downstairs,  and  got  my  car  from  the 
garage;  and  all  the  way  to  the  city  I  spent  my  time  in 
such  futile  speculations.  How  Carpenter,  having  escaped 
from  the  house,  had  managed  to  get  into  town  so  quickly 
— that  was  much  easier  to  figure  out;  for  our  highways 
are  full  of  motor  traffic,  and  almost  any  driver  will  take 
in  a  stranger. 

I  came  to  the  city.  Even  outside  the  crowded  district, 
the  traffic  was  held  up  for  a  minute  or  two  at  every 
corner;  so  I  found  time  to  look  about,  and  to  realize 
that  the  Brigade  had  got  to  town.  All  day  special  trains 
had  been  pouring  into  the  city,  literally  dozens  of  them 
by  every  road;  and  now  the  streets  were  thronged  with 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  211 

men  in  uniform,  marching  arm  in  arm,  shouting,  chant- 
ing war-cries,  roaming  in  search  of  adventure.  Tomor- 
row was  the  first  day  of  the  convention,  the  day  of  the 
big  parade:  tonight  was  a  night  of  riot.  Everything  in 
town  was  free  to  ex-service  men — and  to  all  others  who 
jcould  borrow  or  buy  a  uniform.  The  spirit  of  the  occa- 
sion was  set  forth  in  a  notice  published  on  the  editorial 
page  of  the  "Times" : 

"Hello,  bo !  Have  a  cigarette.  Take  another  one.  Take 
anything  you  see  around  the  place. 

"The  town  is  yours.  Take  it  into  camp  with  you. 
Scruff  it  up  to  your  heart's  content.  Order  it  about. 
Let  it  carry  grub  to  you.  Have  it  shine  your  shoes. 
Hand  it  your  coat  and  tell  it  to  hold  it  until  the  show 
is  over. 

"We  are  all  waiting  your  orders.  Shove  us  back 
if  we  crowd.  Push  us  off  the  street.  Give  us  your  grip 
and  tell  us  where  to  deliver  it.  Any  errands?  Call  us. 
If  you  want  to  go  anywhere,  don't  ask  for  directions. 
Just  jump  into  the  car  and  tell  us  where  you're  bound 
for. 

"Let's  have  another  one  before  we  part.  Put  up  your 
money ;  it's  no  good  here.  This  one's  on  Western  City." 

I  saw  that  it  was  not  going  to  be  possible  to  drive 
through  the  jam,  so  I  put  my  car  in  a  parking  place,  and 
set  out  for  the  City  Hall  on  foot.  On  the  way  I  observed 
that  the  invitation  of  the  "Times"  had  been  accepted; 
the  Brigade  had  taken  possession  of  the  town.  It  was 
just  about  possible  to  walk  on  the  down-town  streets; 
there  were  solid  masses  of  noisy,  pushing  people,  every 
other  man  in  uniform.  Evidently  there  had  been  a  tacit 
agreement  to  repeal  the  Eighteenth  amendment  to  the 
Constitution  for  the  next  three  days;  bootleggers  had 


212  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

drawn  up  their  trucks  and  automobiles  along  the  curbs, 
and  corn-whiskey,  otherwise  known  as  "white  lightnin'," 
was  freely  sold.  You  would  meet  a  man  with  a  bottle 
in  his  hand,  and  the  effects  of  other  bottles  in  his  face, 
who  would  embrace  you  and  offer  you  a  drink;  in  the 
same  block  you  would  meet  another  man  who  would 
invite  you  to  buy  drinks  for  everybody  in  sight.  The 
town  had  apparently  agreed  that  no  invitation  should  be 
declined.  If  the  great  Republic  of  Mobland  had  been 
unable  to  make  for  its  returned  war-heroes  the  new 
world  which  it  had  promised  them — if  it  could  not  even 
give  them  back  the  jobs  they  had  had  before  they  left 
— surely  the  least  it  could  do  was  to  get  them  drunk! 

And  several  times  in  each  block  you  would  have  to  get 
off  the  sidewalk  for  a  group  of  ten  or  twenty  flushed, 
dishevelled  men,  playing  the  great  national  game  of 
craps.  "Roll  the  bones!"  they  would  shout,  completely 
ignoring  the  throngs  whi«ch  surged  about  them.  Each 
had  his  pile  of  bills  and  silver  laid  out  on  the  pavement, 
and  his  bottle  of  "white  lightnin';"  now  and  then  one 
would  take  a  swig,  and  now  and  then  one  would  start 
singing : 

All  we  do  is  sign  the  pay-roll — 
And  we  don't  get  a  goddam  cent. 

You  would  go  a  little  farther,  and  find  a  couple  of 
automobiles  trying  to  get  past,  and  a  merry  crowd  amus- 
ing itself  throwing  large  waste  cans  in  front  of  them. 
Some  one  would  shout :  "Who  won  the  war  ?"  And  the 
answer  would  come  booming:  "The  goddam  slackers;" 
or  maybe  it  would  be,  "The  goddam  officers."  The 
crowd  would  move  along,  starting  to  chant  the  favorite 
refrain : 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  213 

You're  in  the  army  now, 
You're  not  behind  the  plow — 

You  son-of-a , 

You'll  never  get  rich — 
You're  in  the  army  now ! 

And  from  farther  down  the  street  would  come  a  chorus 
from  another  crowd  of  marchers : 

I  got  a  girl  in  Baltimore, 

The  street-car  runs  right  by  her  door. 

Every  now  and  then  you  would  come  on  a  fist-fight, 
or  maybe  a  fight  with  bottles,  and  a  crowd,  laughing  and 
whooping,  engaged  in  pulling  the  warriors  apart  and 
sitting  on  them.  Through  a  mile  or  two  of  this  kind  of 
thing  I  made  my  way,  my  heart  sinking  deeper  with 
misgiving.  I  got  within  a  couple  of  blocks  of  the  City 
Hall,  and  then  suddenly  I  came  upon  the  thing  I  dreaded 
• — my  friend  Carpenter  in  the  hands  of  the  mob! 


LXI 

They  had  got  hold  of  a  canvas-covered  wagon,  of  the 
type  of  the  old  "prairie-schooner."  You  still  find  these 
camped  by  our  roadsides  now  and  then,  with  nomad  fam- 
ilies in  them ;  and  evidently  one  of  these  families  had  been 
so  ill  advised  as  to  come  to  town  for  the  convention.  The 
rioters  had  hoisted  their  victim  on  top  of  the  wagon, 
having  first  dumped  a  gallon  of  red  paint  over  his  head, 
so  that  everyone  might  know  him  for  the  Red  Prophet 
they  had  been  reading  about  in  the  papers.  They  had 
tied  a  long  rope  to  the  shaft  of  the  wagon,  and  one  or 
two  hundred  men  had  hold  of  it,  and  were  hauling  it 
through  the  streets,  dancing  and  singing,  shouting  mur- 
der-threats against  the  "reds."  Some  ran  ahead,  to  clear 
the  traffic;  and  then  came  the  wagon,  lumbering  and 
rocking,  so  that  the  prophet  was  thrown  from  side  to 
side.  Fortunately  there  was  a  hole  in  the  canvas,  and 
he  could  hold  to  one  of  the  wooden  ribs. 

The  cortege  came  opposite  to  me.  On  each  side  was 
a  guard  of  honor,  a  line  of  men  walking  in  lock-step,  each 
with  his  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  the  one  in  front; 
they  had  got  up  a  sort  of  chant:  "Hi!  Hi!  The  Bolshe- 
viki  prophet!  Hi!  Hi!  The  Bolsheviki  prophet!"  And 
others  would  yell,  "I  won't  work !  I  won't  work !" — this 
being  our  Mobland  nickname  for  the  I.  W.  W.  Some 
one  had  daubed  the  letters  on  the  sides  of  the  wagon, 
using  the  red  paint ;  and  a  drunken  fellow  standing  near 
me  shook  his  clenched  fist  at  the  wretch  on  top  and 
bellowed  in  a  fog-horn  voice :  "Hey,  there,  you  goddam 
Arnychist,  if  you're  a  prophet,  come  down  from  that 
there  wagon  and  cure  my  venereal  disease  I"  There  was  a 

214 


THEY  CALL  ME  CAKPENTEK  215 

roar  of  laughter  from  the  throng,  and  the  drunken  fellow 
liked  the  sensation  so  well  that  he  walked  alongside,  shout- 
ing his  challenge  again  and  again. 

Then  I  heard  a  crash  behind  me,  and  a  clatter  of  fall- 
ing glass;  I  turned  to  see  a  soldier,  inside  the  Royal 
Hotel,  engaged  in  chopping  out  the  plate-glass  window 
of  the  lobby  with  a  chair.  There  were  twenty  or  thirty 
uniformed  men  behind  him,  who  wanted  to  get  out  and 
see  the  fun;  but  the  door  of  the  hotel  was  blocked  by 
the  crowd,  so  they  were  seeking  a  direct  route  to  the 
goal  of  their  desires. 

I  knew,  of  course,  there  was  nothing  I  could  do;  one 
might  as  well  have  tried  to  stop  a  hurricane  by  blowing 
one's  breath.  Carpenter  had  wanted  martyrdom,  and 
now  he  was  going  to  get  it — of  the  peculiar  kind  and  in 
the  peculiar  fashion  of  our  free  and  independent  and 
happy-go-lucky  land.  We  have  had  many  agitators  and 
disturbers  of  our  self-satisfaction,  and  they  have  all  "got 
theirs,"  in  one  form  or  another;  but  there  had  never 
been  one  who  had  done  quite  so  much  to  make  himself 
odious  as  this  "Bolsheviki  prophet,"  who  was  now  "get- 
ting his."  "Treat  'em  rough!"  runs  the  formula  of  the 
army ;  and  I  fell  in  step,  watching,  and  thinking  that  later 
I  might  serve  as  one  of  the  stretcher-bearers. 

Half  way  down  the  block  we  came  to  the  Palace  Hotel, 
and  uniformed  men  came  pouring  out  of  that.  I  heard 
the  shrieks  of  a  woman,  and  put  my  foot  on  the  edge 
of  a  store-window,  and  raised  myself  up  by  an  awning, 
to  see  over  the  heads  of  the  crowd.  Half  a  dozen  row- 
dies had  got  hold  of  a  girl ;  I  don't  know  what  she  had 
done — maybe  her  skirts  were  too  short,  or  maybe  she 
had  been  saucy  to  one  of  the  gang;  anyhow,  they  were 
tearing  her  clothes  to  shreds,  and  having  done  this  gaily, 


216  THEY  CALL  ME  CAKPENTEK 

they  took  her  on  their  shoulders,  and  ran  her  out  to 
the  wagon,  and  tossed  her  up  beside  the  Red  Prophet. 
"There's  a  girl  for  you!"  they  yelled;  and  the  drunken 
fellow  who  wanted  Carpenter  to  cure  him,  suddenly 
thought  of  a  new  witticism:  "Hey,  you  goddam  Bol- 
sheviki,  why  don't  you  nationalize  her?"  Men  laughed 
and  whooped  over  that;  some  of  them  were  so  tickled 
that  they  danced  about  and  waved  their  arms  in  the  air. 
For,  you  see,  they  knew  all  the  details  concerning  the 
"nationalization  of  women  in  Russia,"  and  also  they 
had  read  in  the  papers  about  Mary  Magna,  and  Car- 
penter's fondness  for  picture-actresses  and  other  gay 
ladies.  He  stretched  out  his  hand  to  the  girl,  to  save  her 
from  falling  off;  and  at  this  there  went  up  such  a  roar 
from  the  mob,  that  it  made  me  think  of  wild  beasts  in 
the  arena.  So  to  my  whirling  brain  came  back  the  words 
that  Carpenter  had  spoken:  "It  is  Rome!  It  is  Rome! 
Rome  that  never  dies !" 

The  cortege  came  to  the  "Hippodrome,"  which  is  our 
biggest  theatre,  and  which,  like  everything  else,  had  de- 
clared open  house  for  Brigade  members  during  the  con- 
vention. Some  one  in  the  crowd  evidently  knew  the 
building,  and  guided  the  procession  down  a  side  street, 
to  the  stage-entrance.  They  have  all  kinds  of  shows  in 
the  "Hippodrome,"  and  have  a  driveway  by  which  they 
bring  in  automobiles,  or  war-chariots,  or  wild  animals 
in  cages,  or  whatever  they  will.  Now  the  mob  stormed 
the  entrance,  and  brushed  the  door-keepers  to  one  side, 
and  unbolted  and  swung  back  the  big  gates,  and  a  swarm 
of  yelling  maniacs  rushed  the  lumbering  prairie-schooner 
up  the  slope  into  the  building. 

The  unlucky  girl  rolled  off  at  this  point,  and  somebody 
caught  her,  and  mercifully  carried  her  to  one  side.  The 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  217 

wagon  rolled  on ;  the  advance  guard  swept  everything  out 
of  the  way,  scenery  as  well  as  stage-hands  and  actors, 
and  to  the  vast  astonishment  of  an  audience  of  a  couple 
of  thousand  people,  the  long  string  of  rope-pullers 
marched  across  the  stage,  and  after  them  came  the  can- 
vas-covered vehicle  with  the  red-painted  letters,  and  the 
red-painted  victim  clinging  to  the  top.  The  khaki-clad 
swarm  gathered  about  him,  raising  their  deafening 
chant:  "Hi!  Hi!  The  Bolsheviki  prophet.  Hi!  Hi! 
The  Bolsheviki  prophet !" 

I  had  got  near  enough  so  that  I  could  see  what  hap- 
pened. I  don't  know  whether  Carpenter  fainted;  any- 
how, he  slipped  from  his  perch,  and  a  score  of  upraised 
hands  caught  him.  Some  one  tore  down  a  hanging  from 
the  walls  of  the  stage  set,  and  twenty  or  thirty  men 
formed  a  circle  about  it,  and  put  the  prophet  in  the 
middle  of  it,  and  began  to  toss  him  ten  feet  up  into  the 
air  and  catch  him  and  throw  him  again. 

And  that  was  all  I  could  stand — I  turned  and  went 
out  by  the  rear  entrance  of  the  theatre.  The  street  in 
back  was  deserted ;  I  stood  there,  with  my  hands  clasped 
to  my  head,  sick  with  disgust ;  I  found  myself  repeating 
out  loud,  over  and  over  again,  those  words  of  Carpenter : 
"It  is  Rome !  It  is  Rome !  Rome  that  never  dies !" 

A  moment  later  I  heard  a  crash  of  glass  up  above  me ; 
I  ducked,  just  in  time  to  avoid  a  shower  of  it.  Then  I 
looked  up,  and  to  my  consternation  saw  the  red-painted 
head  and  the  red  and  white  shoulders  of  Carpenter  sud- 
denly emerging.  The  shoulders  were  quickly  followed 
by  the  rest  of  him;  but  fortunately  there  was  a  narrow 
shed  between  him  and  the  ground.  He  struck  the  shed, 
and  rolled,  and  as  he  fell,  I  caught  him,  and  let  him  down 
without  harm. 


LXII 

I  expected  to  find  my  prophet  nearly  dead;  I  made 
ready  to  get  him  onto  my  shoulders  and  find  some  place 
to  hide  him.  But  to  my  surprise  he  started  to  his  feet. 
I  could  not  see  much  of  him,  because  of  the  streams  of 
paint;  but  I  could  see  enough  to  realize  that  his  face 
was  contorted  with  fury.  I  remembered  that  gentle, 
compassionate  countenance;  never  had  I  dreamed  to  see 
it  like  this ! 

He  raised  his  clenched  hands.  "I  meant  to  die  for 
this  people!  But  now — let  them  die  for  themselves!" 
And  suddenly  he  reached  out  to  me  in  a  gesture  of 
frenzy.  "Let  me  get  away  from  them !  Anywhere,  any- 
way! Let  me  go  back  where  I  was — where  I  do  not 
see,  where  I  do  not  hear,  where  I  do  not  think !  Let  me 
go  back  to  the  church!" 

With  these  words  he  started  to  run  down  the  street; 
hauling  up  his  long  robes— never  would  I  have  dreamed 
that  a  prophet's  bare  legs  could  flash  so  quickly,  that  he 
could  cover  the  ground  at  such  amazing  speed!  I  set 
out  after  him;  I  had  stuck  to  him  thus  far,  and  meant 
to  be  in  at  the  finish,  whatever  it  was.  We  came  out  on 
Broadway  again,  and  there  were  more  crowds  of  soldier 
boys ;  the  prophet  sped  past  them,  like  a  dog  with  a  tin- 
can  tied  to  its  tail.  He  came  to  a  cross-street,  and 
dodged  the  crowded  traffic,  and  I  also  got  through, 
knocking  pedestrians  this  way  and  that.  People 
shouted,  automobiles  tooted;  the  soldiers  whooped  on 
the  trail.  I  began  to  get  short  of  breath,  a  little  dizzy ; 
the  buildings  seemed  to  rock  before  me,  there  were  mobs 

218 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  219 

everywhere,  and  hands  clutching  at  me,  nearly  upset- 
ting me.  But  still  I  followed  my  prophet  with  the  bare 
flying  legs;  we  swept  around  another  corner,  and  I  saw 
the  goal  to  which  the  tormented  soul  was  racing — St. 
Bartholomew's ! 

He  went  up  the  steps  three  at  a  time,  and  I  went  up 
four  at  a  time  behind  him.  He  flung  open  the  door  and 
vanished  inside;  when  I  got  in,  he  was  half  way  up  the 
aisle.  I  saw  people  in  the  church  start  up  with  cries 
of  amazement;  some  grabbed  me,  but  I  broke  away — 
and  saw  my  prophet  give  three  tremendous  leaps.  The 
first  took  him  up  the  altar-steps;  the  second  took  him 
onto  the  altar;  the  third  took  him  up  into  the  stained- 
glass  window.  Bancroft  Ubraiy 

And  there  he  turned  and  faced  me.  His  paint- 
smeared  robes  fell  down  about  his  bare  legs,  his  con- 
vulsed and  angry  face  became  as  gentle  and  compas- 
sionate as  the  paint  would  permit.  With  a  wave  of  his 
hand,  he  signalled  me  to  stand  back  and  let  him  alone 
Then  the  hand  sank  to  his  side,  and  he  stood  motion- 
less. Exhausted,  dizzy,  I  fell  against  one  of  the  pews, 
and  then  into  a  seat,  and  bowed  my  head  in  my  arms. 


LXIII 

I  don't  know  just  how  much  time  passed  after  that. 
I  felt  a  hand  on  my  shoulder,  and  realized  that  some  one 
was  shaking  me.  I  had  a  horror  of  hands  reaching  out 
for  me,  so  I  tried  to  get  away  from  this  one ;  but  it  per- 
sisted, and  there  was  a  voice,  saying,  "You  must  get  up, 
my  friend.  It's  time  we  closed.  Are  you  ill?" 

I  raised  my  head;  and  first  I  glanced  at  the  figure 
above  the  altar.  It  was  perfectly  motionless;  and — in- 
credible as  it  may  seem — there  was  no  trace  of  red  paint 
upon  either  the  face  or  the  robes !  The  figure  was  digni- 
fied and  serene,  with  a  halo  of  light  about  its  head — in 
short,  it  was  the  regulation  stained  glass  figure  that  I 
had  gazed  at  through  all  my  childhood. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  the  voice  at  my  side; 
and  I  looked  up,  and  discovered  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Simpkinson.  He  recognized  me,  and  cried:  "Why, 
Billy!  For  heaven  sake,  what  has  happened?" 

I  was  dazed,  and  put  my  hand  to  my  jaw.  I  realized 
that  my  head  was  aching,  and  that  the  place  I  touched 
was  sore.  "I —  I — "  I  stammered.  "Wait  a  minute." 
And  then,  "I  think  I  was  hurt."  I  tried  to  get  my 
thoughts  together.  Had  I  been  dreaming;  and  if  so, 
how  much  was  dream  and  how  much  was  reality? 
"Tell  me,"  I  said,  "is  there  a  moving  picture  theatre  near 
this  church?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  he.    "The  Excelsior." 

"And — was  there  some  sort  of  riot?" 

"Yes.  Some  ex-soldiers  have  been  trying  to  keep 
people  from  going  in  there.  They  are  still  at  it.  You 
can  hear  them." 

220 


THEY  CALL  ME  CABPENTER  221 

I  listened.  Yes,  there  was  a  murmur  of  voices  out- 
side. So  I  realized  what  had  happened  to  me.  I  said: 
"I  was  in  that  mob,  and  I  got  beaten  up.  I  was  knocked 
pretty  nearly  silly,  and  fled  in  here." 

"Dear  me !"  exclaimed  the  clergyman,  his  amiable  face 
full  of  jconcern.  He  took  me  by  my  shoulders  and  helped 
me  to  my  feet. 

"I'm  all  right  now,"  I  said — "except  that  my  jaw  is 
swollen.    Tell  me,  what  time  is  it?" 
"About  six  o'clock." 

"For  goodness  sake!"  I  exclaimed.  "I  dreamed  all 
that  in  an  hour!  I  had  the  strangest  dream — even  now 
I  can't  make  up  my  mind  what  was  dream  and  what 
really  happened."  I  thought  for  a  moment.  "Tell  me, 
is  there  a  convention  of  the  Brigade — that  is,  I  mean, 
of  the  American  Legion  in  Western  City  now?" 

"No,"  said  the  other;  "at  least,  not  that  I've  heard 
of.  They've  just  held  their  big  convention  in  Kansas 
City." 

"Oh,  I  see!  I  remember — I  read  about  it  in  the 
'Nation/  They  were  pretty  riotous — made  a  drunken 
orgy  of  it." 

"Yes,"  said  the  clergyman.  "I've  heard  that.  It 
seems  too  bad." 

"One  thing  more.  Tell  me,  is  there  a  picture  of  Mr. 
de  Wiggs  in  the  vestry-room?" 

"Good  gracious,  no!"  laughed  the  other.  "Was  that 
one  of  the  things  you  dreamed?  Maybe  you're  thinking 
of  the  portrait  they  are  showing  at  the  Academy." 

"By  George,  that's  it!"  I  said.  "I  patched  the  thing 
up  out  of  all  the  people  I  know,  and  all  the  things  I've 
read  in  the  papers!  I  had  been  talking  to  a  German 
critic,  Dr.  Henner — or  wait  a  moment!  Is  he  real? 


222  THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 

Yes,  he  came  before  I  went  to  see  the  picture.  He'll  be 
entertained  to  hear  about  it.  You  see,  the  picture  was 
supposed  to  be  the  delirium  of  a  madman,  and  when  I 
got  this  whack  on  the  jaw,  I  set  to  work  to  have  a  de- 
lirium of  my  own,  just  as  I  had  seen  on  the  screen.  It 
was  the  most  amazing  thing — so  real,  I  mean.  Every 
person  I  think  of,  I  have  to  stop  and  make  sure  whether 
I  really  know  them,  or  whether  I  dreamed  them.  Even 
you!" 

"Was  I  in  it?"  laughed  Mr.  Simpkinson.  "What  did 
I  do?" 

But  I  decided  I'd  better  not  tell  him.  "It  wasn't  a 
polite  dream,'*  I  said.  "Let  me  see  if  I  can  walk  now." 
I  started  down  the  aisle.  "Yes,  I'm  all  right." 

"Do  you  suppose  that  crowd  will  bother  you  again? 
Perhaps  I'd  better, -go  with  you,"  said  the  apostle  of 
muscular  Christianity. 

"No,  no,"  I  said.  "They're  not  after  me  especially. 
I'll  slip  away  in  the  other  direction." 

So  I  bade  Mr.  Simpkinson  good-bye,  and  went  out  on 
the  steps,  and  the  fresh  air  felt  good  to  me.  I  saw  the 
crowd  down  the  street;  the  ex-service  men  were  still 
pushing  and  shouting,  driving  people  away  from  the 
theatre.  I  stopped  for  one  glance,  then  hurried  away 
and  turned  the  corner.  As  I  was  passing  an  office  build- 
ing, I  saw  a  big  limousine  draw  up.  The  door  opened, 
and  a  woman  stepped  out:  a  bold,  dark,  vivid  beauty, 
bedecked  with  jewels  and  gorgeous  raiment  of  many 
sorts;  a  big  black  picture  hat,  with  a  flower  garden  and 
parts  of  an  aviary  on  top — 

Her  glance  lit  on  me.  "My  God!  Will  you  look 
who's  here!"  She  tame  to  me  with  her  two  hands 
stretched  out.  "Billy,  wretched  creature,  I  haven't  laid 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER  223 

eyes  on  you  for  two  months!  Do  you  have  to  desert 
me  entirely,  just  because  you've  fallen  in  love  with  a 
society  girl  with  the  face  of  a  Japanese  doll-baby? 
What's  the  matter  with  me,  that  I  lose  my  lovers  faster 
than  I  get  them?  I  just  met  Edgerton  Rosythe;  he's 
got  a  good  excuse,  I  admit — I'm  almost  as  much  scared 
of  his  wife  as  he  is  himself.  But  still,  I'd  like  a  chance 
to  get  tired  of  some  man  first!  Want  to  come  upstairs 
with  me,  and  see  what  Planchet's  doing  to  my  old  gran- 
nie in  her  scalping-shop  ?  Say,  would  you  think  it  would 
take  three  days'  labor  for  half  a  dozen  Sioux  squaws 
to  pull  the  skin  off  one  old  lady's  back?  And  a  week 
to  tie  up  the  ^corners  of  her  mouth  and  give  her  a  per- 
manent smile!  'Why,  grannie/  I  said,  'good  God,  it 
would  be  cheaper  to  hire  Charlie  Chaplin  to  walk  around 
in  front  of  you  all  the  rest  of  your  life/  But  the  old 
girl  was  bound  to  be  beautiful,  so  I  said  to  Planchet, 
'Make  her  new  from  the  waist  up,  Madame,  for  you 
never  can  tell  how  the  fashions  '11  change,  and  what 
she'll  need  to  show/  " 
And  so  I  knew  that  I  was  back  in  the  real  world. 


APPENDIX 

We  live  in  an  age,  the  first  in  human  history,  when 
religion  is  entirely  excluded  from  politics  and  politics 
from  religion.  It  may  happen,  therefore,  that  millions 
of  men  will  read  this  story  and  think  it  merely  a  joke; 
not  realizing  that  it  is  a  literal  translation  of  the  life  of 
the  world's  greatest  revolutionary  martyr,  the  founder 
of  the  world's  first  proletarian  party.  For  the  benefit  of 
those  whose  historical  education  has  been  neglected,  I 
append  a  series  of  references.  The  number  to  the  left 
refers  to  a  page  of  this  book.  The  number  to  the  right 
is  a  parallel  reference  to  a  volume  of  ancient  records 
known  as  the  Bible ;  specifically  to  those  portions  known 
as  the  gospels  according  to  Matthew  Everett,  Mark 
Abell,  Luka  Korwsky,  and  John  Colver. 

11 Matthew  14:27  102 Luke  4:5-8 

14 Matthew  6:21  107 Matthew  26:34 

16 Isaiah  3 : 16-26  114 Matthew  26:69-75 

17 Mark  12:37  117 James  5:1-6 

70 Luke  6:24  119 Matthew  7:7 

70 John  15:17  120 Matthew  7:11 

72 Luke  9:38  123 Matthew  10:34 

73 Luke  4:40  123 Matthew   10:16-17 

75 Luke  11 :46  129 Luke  23 :23 

78 Matthew  19:14  131 Matthew  9:9 

84 John  15 :27  135 Acts  17:24 

85 .Luke  6 :25  136 Matthew  21 :12 

90 Matthew  12:39  136 Exodus  20:7 

95 Matthew  12:34  136 Matthew  21 :13 

99 Matthew  10 :9  138 Matthew  5 :39-40 

224 


THEY  CALL  ME  CARPENTER 


140 ..Matthew  23:1-33 

143 Mark  6:56 

143 Luke  6:19 

144 Matthew  25:36 

144 Matthew  21:6 

145 Mark  3:20 

145 Luke  5:29 

146 Matthew  9:37 

146 Luke  4:39 

150 John  19:26 

153 Matthew  19:16 

155 Mark  15:14 

162 Matthew  5:9 

164 Luke  4:18 

164 Luke  19:40-44 

164 Matthew  11:5 

167 Matthew  5:44 

171 Matthew  27:14 

171..        ..Matthew  8:20 


175 Matthew  26:7-13 

176 Luke  1:52 

179 Matthew  11:19 

180 Matthew  5:11 

182 Luke  20:20 

182 Matthew  26:22 

183 Matthew  26:36 

185 John  18:3 

186 Luke  22:4 

190 Matthew  26:40 

192 Luke  22:44 

193 Matthew  26:40 

194 Luke  14:43 

195 Matthew  26:52 

202.. Mark  14:36 

203 Matthew  10:28 

214 Mark  15:18 

214 Luke  23:38 

214..        ..Matthew  27:40 


W.  B.  C. 


